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* * *
Oh my God, my voice actually behaved. Cool and confident, it doesn’t waver or squeak. I don’t sound like a besotted reject or a love-struck teen. I sound … casual. Unaffected. “Where’s Cecile?”
* * *
He watches me closely, unmoving, his blue eyes on mine. “The house,” he says finally, and there is something in his words, but I am not savvy enough to figure them out.
* * *
I nod and sit, glancing at my watch, the Tag Heuer that I couldn’t stop myself from putting on this morning.
* * *
He sits next to me, too close, the scent of him undoing me, causing my eyes to involuntarily close, my body to lean … I straighten, open my eyes, and reach for my phone, scrolling through it in an attempt to appear busy.
* * *
“How are you?” He leans in, putting his arm around the back of my chair, his fingers running gently along my arm. I start at the contact, turning to look at his hand, the strong fingers of it playing gently with my soul.
* * *
“What are you doing? Stop touching me,” I snap.
* * *
He shoots me a wounded look, withdrawing his arm and checking his own watch. “Sorry,” he mutters. “You don’t have to act like it—”
* * *
“Mr. and Mrs. Dumont?” The man before us is Indian, short and round, with a face that beams, wire glasses tight against round cheeks.
* * *
We stand in unison, Nathan gesturing for me to go ahead, and we follow the man to his office.
* * *
It is a small office, probably designed to force the sparring couple closer, as if less space can overcome irrevocable differences. In my case, it works perfectly. Any proximity to Nathan causes me to swoon like some weak heroine in a 19th century romance novel.
* * *
We sit, the doctor settles in, moves some papers, and then smiles at us. “I understand we are here to discuss your marriage, and some roadblocks it may have encountered. What are the main issues in your relationship?”
* * *
Nathan casts a sidelong glance at me. “I don’t know that there were any issues, per se. We separated because my ex-girlfriend returned and agreed to give our relationship another shot.”
* * *
The man squints, his cheerful beam gone. “Your ex-girlfriend?”
* * *
“Well, ex-fiancée.”
* * *
“And your wife presented a problem in that scenario.” His inquisitive look has turned into a hard stare, full of judgment. I want to kiss the man.
* * *
“We had a marriage of convenience. Candace and I were not in love.”
* * *
“Were not or are not?”
* * *
Nathan stills. “What do you mean?”
* * *
The doctor opens our file, pulling out photo upon photo and setting them on the desk before us.
* * *
Us in Seafire, bent over lobster, my hand clasped in his.
* * *
On the beach, his head bent to mine, our bodies molded as one.
* * *
A close up of his face, beaming at me, wind whipping our hair.
* * *
Paparazzi photos cut from some magazine. A coordinated image created by lies.
* * *
“These photos indicate a couple very much in love.”
* * *
“It was fake,” I interrupt whatever bullshit Nathan is about to say. “We pretended. In hopes that Nathan’s ex-fiancée would see.”
* * *
“Hmm …” The man seems unconvinced, leaning back in his chair and staring at us. “Tell me more about this marriage of convenience. What was the point?”
* * *
“My attorney has informed me that there is no legal standing that a couple must wed for reasons of love—” Nathan’s curt sentence is ended by Dr. Bejanti’s irritable expression, waving his hand dismissively.
* * *
“I don’t care about the law. I only care about the two of you. Why did you get married?”
* * *
“For her.” Shit, there was some bitterness in my tone. They both notice it and look at me simultaneously.
* * *
The doctor frowns. “It was all a ploy to entice jealousy? Marriage is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
* * *
Nathan shrugs. “I dated around a lot in the first few years after she left me. She, and the press, didn’t find that very exciting. Plus…” He glances at me. “Candace understood the limitations of our relationship.”
* * *
I want to get the fuck out of here. Listening to him speak, listening to our fucked up marriage being analyzed … It makes me sound pathetic, reminds me of how our entire relationship was centered on her. I feel a wave of physical nausea, thinking of her in the car, Nathan and I doing a coordinated dance so that we can be divorced and she and him can be together.
* * *
“Are you going to marry her?” The question pops out of me suddenly. Nathan’s eyes sharpen, a question in them.
