Page 44 of A Temporary Forever

“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 mywords 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.”

“Thatactually 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.

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