Page 20 of The Temporary Bride

She doesn’t reply right away, so I add, “My place is better positioned relative to both of our jobs. It’s equidistant from both of our offices.”

“What, did you map it out?” she says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, actually. I did.”

She stares at the plastic divider that separates us from our driver as if she’s trying to melt it with her eyes—or, knowing her, to freeze it until it’s brittle enough to shatter. That seems more like her style.

Finally, she breathes in deeply through her nose and nods. “Fine. Yes. We can move into your place after the wedding.”

“Thank you.”

“But,” she adds quickly, “I’m holding on to my penthouse for now.”

“That’s reasonable,” I say. It shouldn’t garner too much suspicion. Most of the people in our social circle have multiple homes, plenty of them in lavish places. My father had at least two vacation homes, so one extra apartment in LA won’t raise any eyebrows.

“Good.”

Silence settles over us, and once again, I am made painfully aware of our closeness. Her black dress hugs her figure beneath a tailored blazer, gold accents glinting softly against the dark fabric. The hem rests a few inches above her knees, revealing the smooth skin of her legs.

Acting on impulse, I reach out and rest my hand on her thigh, just below the hem of her dress. Immediately, she goes still. Her eyes widen, her lips narrowing as her muscles tense, but I don’t miss the small shiver that runs through her.

“I’ll arrange for your things to be brought over after the ceremony,” I say in a low voice.

She nods, her jaw tight. “Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

“I know this situation isn’t ideal,” I continue, removing my hand, “but I promise you that I’ll do what I can to make the best of it, as long as you do the same.”

“I know. And I will.”

The car rolls to a stop outside of an apartment building. The front doors are tall, revolving cylinders of glass, and I can see into the bright atrium.

Above, stone balustrades surround the apartments’ private balconies, mostly shielding the residents from prying eyes on the street. Evidence of their lives spills over the edges and between the balusters—tendrils of ivy winding around the thick, white stone. Terracotta pots barely visible in the interstices.

I wonder what Chloe’s apartment looks like. Does she have a garden on her balcony like her neighbors? After she moves in with me, will she still feel as though her roots are here, rather than at my place? What will it take to make my home hers?

“Well, this is me,” she says flatly, gathering her purse and nodding in my direction.

The driver opens the door for her, and she steps out onto the sidewalk.

My gaze lingers on her as she walks away. The way her hips move, the way her dark blazer hugs her curves—I couldn’t not look. I can’t look away until she pushes her way through the revolving doors and disappears from sight.

My driver’s voice forces my attention back into this car. “Where to, sir? Back to the office?”

I consider my answer. I could go back to the office, but it’s been a long day, and I’m not sure I have the capacity to stay focused anymore. Not after the tension of this shopping trip.

So I shake my head and say, “Actually, I think I’m done for the day.”

“Of course, sir.”

The ride back to my place, in LA traffic, takes a little over twenty minutes. The car still smells faintly of her, something light and floral, and I can still feel the warmth of her thigh under my palm. I spend most of the ride looking out the window or with my eyes closed, which is more or less the same experience.

My house is quiet when I get in. It’s a big house, close to the water, and in the evenings when I come home alone the size of it is more obvious than at other times of day. I leave my jacket over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, work my tie loose on the way up, and go directly to the bathroom to start the shower.

I stand at the sink while the water heats up, then I strip down and get in, standing under the spray and trying, without much success, to clear my head.

As I wash my hair, I try to focus on the board presentation at the end of the week, the strategic development report that needs to be submitted before the month is out. Literally anything that has to do with work.

My mind goes directly back to the jewelry store instead.