“Yes, just a little sore. But sore at all the right places.”
Mark’s hand tightened around his coffee mug, his knuckles going white. He stared into his cup. “Wow. That’s a lot of detail I didn’t need.”
“But I thought you wanted us to be honest and transparent in this open marriage.” I took a sip of my coffee, meeting his eyes. “If you wantto tell me how it went with your boss’s secretary, I’d be happy to hear all about it.”
Mark opened his mouth, but before he could speak, my phone rang.
Florin’s name lit up the screen, and I felt a schoolgirl flutter I hadn’t experienced in years.
“Excuse me, honey. I need to take this.”
I stood and walked to the window, turning my back on Mark.
“Bonjour, ma belle,” Florin’s voice was warm, intimate.
“Hi,” I said softly, smiling despite myself.
“Last night was... there are no words for what last night was.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You are magnificent, Amelia. Absolutely magnificent.”
Heat crept up my neck. “It was pretty incredible.”
“I cannot wait another day to begin painting you. Are you free today? I would like you to come to my studio.”
My heart skipped. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that.”
“Parfait. Come at two o’clock. I will have everything ready.”
We said goodbye, and I stood there for a moment longer, staring out at the Paris street below, a smile still playing at my lips.
I’d completely forgotten about Mark.
When I turned around, he was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Who was that?”
“Florin. We’re meeting again today.”
I sat back down and took a bite of croissant, suddenly ravenous. “What about you? Do you have a new date lined up? Or will you be seeing Simone again?”
Mark’s head snapped up. “How do you know her name?”
“Oliver told me. At the party the other night.” I kept my voice casual, deliberately not mentioning that Oliver had also told me Mark had been wanting to sleep with Simone for almost a year.
“I’m sure she was good,” I said, spreading jam on my croissant. “You must be enjoying this arrangement.” I paused, then added with a smile, “As much as I am.”
Mark set down his coffee mug with a sharp clink. “Yes, about that—” There was worry in his voice, and irritation. “I was thinking maybe we should reconsider the duration of this open marriage thing.”
I cut him off. “But honey, we just started. Didn’t you say that if we experience this fully, we’ll appreciate each other more at the end of six months?”
“Yes, I did say that.” Mark ran his hand through his hair—that nervous gesture he always made when stressed. “But I don’t want you to do something you’re not completely comfortable with—”
“Oh, I am completely comfortable.” I looked at him directly. “I cannot believe we didn’t think of this sooner. I’m opening up my horizons, experiencing life in such new, exciting ways. All thanks to you, Mark.” I smiled sweetly. “I’m so lucky to have such an open-minded husband.”
“But—” Mark’s hand went through his hair again. He hadn’t shaved yet, and he looked miserable.
I knew that gesture, that ruffling of hair. Mark always did that when he was stressed about work, when something was weighing on him. There was a time I would have taken his hand, kissed it, assured him everything would be okay.
That was when I’d thought Mark would never do anything to betray my trust.
