“But what, Mark? Aren’t you happy with them?”
“Are you happy with yours?” I met her eyes, searching for some sign that she too is tired of this open marriage.
“Oh, Mark!” Her face lit up, and I felt a sharp pain in my gut. “I cannot tell you how happy I am! This is so much fun. No emotions involved, just pure fun! Now I understand why people have open marriages.”
Each word was a knife to my chest.
“But at the end of it all,” I said desperately, “they come back to their spouses, right? More in love than ever before?”
Amelia’s smile faded. She looked at me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.
“They do,” she said quietly. “If their open marriage didn’t start on a lie.”
Blood drained from my face. “What?”
“You lied to me, Mark.” Her voice was steady, but there was steel underneath. “You fucking lied to me, just so you could sleep with your boss’s secretary. That was pathetic. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Amelia, I—”
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Oh no! I’m going to be late. I have a date!”
She pushed the tray aside and hopped out of bed, heading toward the bathroom.
I sat there, stunned.
“Amelia!” I called after her. “Amelia, please. I love you. I’m sorry!”
But all I could hear was the shower running.
When did this happen? When did Amelia become so nonchalant about my feelings?
I knew the answer, even as I asked the question.
This was all my doing. I’d been stupid. So incredibly stupid.
Amelia was slipping away from me.
And this—this breakfast in bed that was supposed to fix everything—might actually be the beginning of the end of our marriage.
CHAPTER 15
Amelia
The Café de Flore was exactly as I’d imagined from all the movies and books. Red leather banquettes, art deco mirrors, waiters in crisp white aprons gliding between tables of well-dressed Parisians.
Florin had told me to meet him here for a special date, and the excitement in his voice had made my stomach flutter with anticipation.
I spotted him immediately, standing near a private booth at the back. When he saw me, his face lit up and he rushed over, pulling me into his arms and kissing me in that slow, deliberate way that always made my knees weak.
“Ma belle,” he murmured against my lips. “You look stunning.”
He guided me to the booth, his hand warm on the small of my back. But something was different today. He seemed almost nervous. Bouncing slightly on his toes, checking his watch, glancing toward the entrance.
“What’s going on?” I asked as we slid into the plush seats. “Why are you so excited?”
“I showed my masterpiece to someone,” Florin said, his gray-blue eyes sparkling. “The painting of you. And he wants to meet you.”
“Who is he?”
