The plane descended, and I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching Paris grow larger below us. Somewhere back in New York, Noah and Brook were probably having breakfast with my parents. I’d promised to call as soon as we landed.
God, I missed them already.
“You okay?” Mark asked, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.
“Just thinking about the kids.”
“They’ll be fine. Your parents are probably spoiling them rotten as we speak.”
He was right. Mom had practically cried with joy when we’d dropped them off yesterday, already planning trips to the zoo and the aquarium and promising to make all their favorite foods.
But that wasn’t what was really bothering me.
I turned my head and looked at Mark’s features. He was still so handsome. What we both had was so perfect, so enviable. Then why? Why did he want to sleep with someone else?
His words had been echoing in my head for weeks now, ever since that lunch at The Farmer’s Fork when I’d agreed to this insane arrangement.
Mark would have so many opportunities here. He’d be meeting beautiful, sophisticated French women, who’d be more than happy flirting with my husband. Flirting, and having sex with him. The thought made me wince. I closed my eyes. He’d be sleeping with them. Kissing them. Touching them the way he touched me.
And me? I didn’t want to date anyone. I was not ready for it. The thought of going on dates with strangers, of letting someone else touch me didn’t seem appealing at all.
When Mark first told me about Paris, I’d imagined something completely different. Cultural tours of museums, romantic walks along the Seine, discovering hidden cafés and art galleries together. Culinary adventures and lazy Sunday mornings in bed and all the things we never had time for at home.
I’d never imagined I’d be expected to go on dates with other men.
But if I didn’t do this—if I said no—I’d lose Mark forever. I could feel it. This wasn’t just a passing fantasy for him. This was something he really wanted.
Maybe it would just be a phase. Maybe after a few weeks, he’d realize how ridiculous this all was and we could go back to normal.
But what if it wasn’t a phase? What if he loved it so much that he wanted to keep the marriage open even after we returned home? What if six months turned into forever?
What would I do then?
The plane’s wheels touched down with a gentle bump, and Mark squeezed my hand again.
“Welcome to the city that will change our lives,” he said, grinning.
I forced myself to smile back, even as those words made my heart sink.
Change our lives.
Yes. I was terrified that’s exactly what would happen.
Monday morning arrived too quickly.
Mark and I sat side by side on the couch in our temporary apartment, my laptop balanced between us as we waited for the FaceTime call to connect.
When Brook’s face filled the screen, my heart squeezed so tight I could barely breathe.
“Mommy! Daddy!” She was wearing her favorite purple shirt—the one with the unicorn on it that she refused to let me wash. “Guess what? Grandma made pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse!”
“That sounds amazing, sweetheart,” I said, drinking in every detail of her face. Had she always had that many freckles across her nose?
“When are you coming home?” she asked.
“Not for a while, honey. But we’ll call you every day, okay?”
Noah muscled his way into the frame, pushing Brook aside. “Look!” He opened his mouth wide, wiggling one of his front teeth with his tongue. “It’s so loose! Grandpa says it’ll fall out any day now!”
