I turned around, and my mouth fell open too.
Through the glass walls of the café, I could see the parking lot. And there, walking side by side, were Amelia and Florin.
Behind them were four people carrying shopping bags. Not just any bags. Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Chanel. More bags than I could count, overflowing with designer clothes, handbags, boxes that could only contain watches or jewelry.
Another person carried a bucket with champagne on ice. Another held boxes from the finest patisseries in Paris—chocolates, truffles, elaborate desserts.
They were walking toward a limousine. Not a car, not even a nice car—a stretch limousine, black and gleaming in the afternoon sun.
A chauffeur opened the door for them.
And Amelia—
Amelia looked so happy.
She had a bounce in her step I hadn’t seen in years. She was smiling that beautiful, radiant smile that used to be reserved for me. The smile she’d had when we were just Mark and Amelia, before jobs and mortgages and the weight of adult life had dimmed it.
That smile had disappeared when she was with me. But here it was, bright and real, for him.
Florin had his hand on the small of her back—possessive, protective. She was wearing a different diamond necklace than the one I’d seen yesterday morning.
The chauffeur loaded all the bags into the trunk. The champagne and desserts went into the car with them. Then the door closed, and the limousine pulled away smoothly, disappearing into Paris traffic.
I sat frozen, my sandwich forgotten, my coffee going cold.
“How did she even find him?” Simone’s voice was sharp with jealousy. “Florin Blanchet is…he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Paris. Women throw themselves at him constantly, and he ignores all of them. How did your frumpy little wife—”
“Shut up, you jealous bitch,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
Simone’s mouth snapped shut, her face flushing with anger.
“She’s Amelia,” I said quietly, still staring at the spot where the limousine had been. “And you’re just... just Simone.”
Simone stood up abruptly, grabbing her purse. “How dare you,”
“Get lost, Simone. And tell that latest guy you’re sleeping with—Hugo—that he cannot and will not get my job.” I looked at her finally, letting all my disgust show on my face. “You used me. We’re done. Don’t come near me again unless it’s for actual work.”
“You’re an asshole,” she hissed.
“And you’re a conniving snake who was never worth an open marriage.”
She stormed out of the café, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.
I sat there alone at the table near the restroom, surrounded by office workers on their lunch breaks, and tried to process what I’d just seen.
Florin was showering Amelia with gifts I could never afford. Taking her places I could never take her. Making her smile in ways I’d forgotten how to.
And it was my fault.
All of it was my fault.
CHAPTER 12
Amelia
My heels clicked against the cobblestone street as I walked toward Florin’s studio, my heart dancing in my chest.
Today was the day.
