Page 20 of A Temporary Forever

Snobby bastard.

Do you own this place?

Is it the home I always envisioned for myself? No. But it’s what I can afford, and I made it mine.

I drop to sit on my bed and groan.

I’m angry at Saar for blindsiding me, at myself for always acting on impulse around Caleb, and at him for playing the guardian angel.

When was the first time you saw me?

He caught me off guard with that question. Hurt me, even. Whywould he ask that? He’s been pretending it never happened, so what’s his angle?

Asshole.

But as I stare at the closed door, restricted by the size of my apartment, the realization crushes me.

My pride has just cost me my career.

Caleb van den Linden might be the only option to fast-track my visa, and I acted on my feelings.

When around him, I can’t stop feelingless. Like I’m not worthy of his attention. Not deserving of his courtesy. Not good enough.

And that’s not who I am. I am enough. I’m more than enough.

I was always too big to be a ballerina like my mom, but she helped me find my own form of dancing. She believed in me, and I carry that belief in her memory.

But that man makes me question everything. The moment he showed up and looked at this place down his nose, something in me snapped.

You’re not very organized.

Fuck him.

Checking my watch, I soar into action and get ready to leave. My second and last night performing at The Pulse Stage.

I wipe a lone tear from my cheek. The makeup artist will have her hands full today.

I lock the door behind me and double-check thatit’s secured. This neighborhood is safe enough, but that doesn’t mean I should take chances.

I check my mailbox on the way out, and stop when my foot kicks something. The entrance doorknob rolls across the checkered floor toward the staircase.

Frowning, I look up and, sure enough, the building’s main door is slightly ajar, the doorknob missing.

“I’ve been calling the super to fix that damn thing.” The house gossip master leans her head down the railing. “The man in the pricey suit—was he visiting you, Celeste?—almost ripped the door off its hinges. Now I better keep watch since it doesn’t close.” She steps on to the landing, her arms folded over her chest.

“I’m sure now they’ll come to fix it faster. Thank you for keeping guard.” I smile, and she returns it with so much pretense I barely stifle a cackle. Instead of subjecting myself to further interrogation, I dash outside.

A boring subway ride later, I trudge through the abandoned alley that leads to the back entrance of the theater. I lift my hand to the door, but stall.

Do my colleagues know about my situation?

Has Reinhard told them already?

Or am I going to face inquiries about my absence last night?

Okay, Celeste, don’t be a sissy. You’re here to perform. Give them your best night.

I push the door open and merge into the familiar commotion. People are running around everywhere. The orchestra is rehearsing in the background. A dancer kisses me on the cheek as she dashes past me, whining about a torn bodysuit.

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