Page 2 of A Temporary Forever

I first met her when she choreographed Saar’s fashion show almost a decade ago, watching her from afar, and she dazzled me.

She knocked the air out of me that first encounter. Not that she fucking remembers it.

At least I hadn’t seen her for years until Saar insisted we have dinner together almost a year ago.

Little sis wanted to play matchmaker when Celeste lost work and needed a visa to stay here. I would have never agreed to dine with her, but it was my father’s fault she lost her job, so I showed up.

Big. Fat. Mistake.

She even criticized the air I breathe. And while I enjoyed riling her up, I didn’t particularly enjoy all her opinions.

There’s something about this woman that makes me act like an idiot. And that pisses me off.

I charm. I play offense. And yet this woman puts me on the defense more than I’d like.

“Celeste.” I nod.

“Prince Charming.” She bows her head briefly and rewards me with a smile that would get her an Oscar. If there was a faking category.

“I thought it was just the two of us,” I grumble toSaar.

“I know, but Celeste has a big night tomorrow, and she needed a break and a distraction.” Saar snatches the menu and starts reading.

“From what?”

“I have a lead role in a contemporary dance piece.” Celeste says it with such pride, I can’t help but smile.

“Congratulations.”

Maybe this evening can play out amicably. The woman clearly takes pride in her work—something I can admire.

The server arrives, reciting the specials. Saar orders several items on the menu, like she hasn’t eaten for days. And she probably hasn’t. Her job annoys me.

“Sorry, guys, I feel like I’m living in perpetual jet lag.” Saar yawns. She’s just flown back from Europe, where she spends most of her time. “After I quit, I’ll sleep for a year.”

“And you’ll finally live here,” Celeste cheers.

“Talking about quitting, is tomorrow really your last day at Quaintique-Linden?” Saar turns to me.

Yeah, as if my life hasn’t been turned upside down enough in the last eighteen months, I find myself exiting the career I always thought was my destiny. To my brother’s dismay, I’m quitting the company we created together.

“Yep.” I nod and take a sip of my drink. “So what isthe lead role?” I try to redirect attention away from me, because I’m not discussing my existential crisis in front of a woman who is a mere acquaintance. One that has been avoiding my eyes since she arrived.

Celeste looks at me now, her green eyes sparkling. She starts talking with enthusiasm. And I find myself lured by her words.

Not so much their meaning, but the melody. The longer she talks, the more prevalent the soft, lyrical intonation of her accent is. She elongates the vowels, and puts a charming emphasis on certain syllables.

The words flow from her lips—and fuck, those lips are puffy and kissable—in a uniquely elegant way.

When the waiter brings our entrees, the women dive into another conversation. The actual topic just glides around me as my eyes continue wandering to the woman across from me.

Celeste is wearing a tight red dress, with a cut that exposes and hides her cleavage at the same time.

On anyone else, it would look skanky and cheap, but she effortlessly gives the dress a sense of intrigue and refined elegance.

Her alabaster skin contrasts with the carmine satin. Add the perfectly coiffed chestnut hair, and she has the allure of a fifties movie star, a sexy kitten, and an elusive temptress. All those mix with a precision that draws you in, without the draw being the objective.

My gaze drops before I catch myself.

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