Page 99 of A Temporary Forever

When I add walnuts to my salad, just like Caleb always does.

When flipping through an online gallery, I want to ask him his opinion on a piece of art.

When I dance in the home studio he had made for me.

Merde. I’m truly fucked.

Cora drops her hands, her gaze dancing between us. “Okay, let’s do it, but I’ll start paying you as soon—”

“Three months. I’ll do it for free to make up for all the mess and breakages I caused here. And because you deserve help. After that, we’ll talk.” Lily lifts her mug again to seal the deal.

Cora turns to me. “Thank you for giving me the push, and looking at my numbers. It’s a shame you don’t have your school anymore. By now, it would have been the largest and best dance school in the city.”

“That’s still the dream.”

I haven’t thought about my studio lately, but that doesn’t mean my desire to reopen it has weakened. With my work permit and the show income renewed, I can finally start saving again.

And after my divorce, thanks to Caleb’s insistence on a prenup with a nice payout, I might be able to fast-forward those dreams.

The thought saddens me, and a part of me wishes I could have it all. But that’s too good to be true, as the next few days will prove.

Chapter 27

Caleb

“Knock, knock.”

I look up from my desk, my vision blurry from hours of staring at an acquisitions report.

Corm stands in the doorway, holding whiskey and two tumblers. My jaw ticks. We’ve reached an unspoken truce. As much as I hate to admit it, he brings a lot to the table. A lot of useful insight and strategy, aside from his assholeness.

I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head. “What do you need?”

“I need to take a month off and lie on the beach.” He saunters in without invitation and sits across from me.

“Fuck off, Corm, I don’t have time for your daydreaming.”

This is the first time in over a month since I started here thathe’scome to my office. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to bow and chitchat.

For one, I may trust and respect his business instincts, but otherwise I don’t trust the air he breathes.

For two, I want to finish this report before Celeste finishes her show tonight, pick her up, and fuck her six ways to Sunday.

And then take her to breakfast and listen to everything she has to say about her friend’s bistro, her manager being an asshole—I need to do something about that—or her colleague’s child, the applause she got the night before.

Frankly, at this point she could recite her shopping list and I’d listen with reverence.

And therein lies my biggest problem. I’m infatuated with my wife.

A concept that is highly inconvenient. I’ve been telling myself to back off, but her spell on me is irresistible.

Corm doesn’t seem perturbed by my lack of welcome. He pours me an inch of his expensive whiskey and another glass for himself. The liquid sloshes languidly into the polished glasses.

“Cheers.” He passes me the tumbler.

I don’t particularly want to drink with him, but I’m not going to pass on his Macallan 1926. It must be aspecial occasion since he opened this bottle again. “What are we celebrating? You learn how to masturbate?”

“Ha, ha, I can jerk off just fine, but I don’t need to. Plenty of women out there to take care of me. How’s married life?”

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