It had been almost six months since we’d arrived. Six months that felt like a beautiful, impossible dream.
Both Lucien and Florin knew the deal. Six months. That was the arrangement Mark and I had agreed to. And now the time was almost up.
They’d both told me, in their own ways, that they wanted to continue seeing me. Long distance, if necessary.
I saw Florin before he saw me.
He was pacing outside Café Laurent, his usual artistic dishevelment replaced by something more agitated. His hair was pulled back, and he wore a crisp white shirt I’d never seen before. Dress clothes. Like he was attending something important.
The moment he spotted me, his face transformed. That beautiful smile broke across his features, and he rushed over.
“Ma belle,” he murmured, kissing both my cheeks and then lingering at my mouth. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. What’s this about?”
“Come. You’ll see.”
He took my hand and led me inside, through the café to a private booth at the back.
And there, sitting across from Lucien, was Mark.
My breath stopped.
Mark looked... terrible. And somehow more real than he had in months. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled. His hair needed a cut. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
The contrast between him and Lucien was stark. Lucien sat composed in a perfectly tailored suit, every hair in place, radiating that effortless confidence. Mark looked like he’d been through a war.
And seeing him like that—vulnerable, broken, desperate—something tugged in my chest. My heart melted a little despite everything.
“Amelia.” Lucien said as he and Mark stood. Lucine gave me a peck on the cheek, and Mark’s eyes lowered to the floor.
I slid into the booth, acutely aware of all three men watching me. Florin sat beside me, Lucien and Mark across from us.
“What’s going on?” I asked, looking between them.
“Mark has something he wants to say to you,” Lucien said. “He asked Florin and me to be here. As witnesses.”
I turned to Mark. His hands were shaking.
“Amelia.” He pulled out a folder, his voice rough. “You gave me six months of an open marriage that I manipulated you into.”
He slid the folder across the table.
“I’m asking you to give me six more months. But on your terms this time. Completely on your terms.”
I opened the folder. Inside was a contract—actual legal documents, notarized and official.
My hands trembled as I read.
The contract was twenty five pages long. I skimmed through the first few pages, trying to make sense of everything, until I came to the section marked “Conclusion.” It read: So, in conclusion, (1) Mark Davis commits to individual and couples therapy, (2) Mark Davis agrees Amelia Davis can continue seeing Florin and Lucien if she wants while he remains faithful, (3) Mark Davis takes a sabbatical from work to be the primary parent when they return home so Amelia can pursue her modeling/art career, (4) Every decision about their life—where they live, what they do, how they spend time—is hers to make, (5) At the end of six months, Amelia Davis decides: stay married, divorce, or something in between. He accepts whatever she chooses.
I stared at the page, then turned the pages, reading them again and again.
This was real. This was legally binding.
Mark was putting his entire future in my hands.
“I had this drawn up by my lawyer,” Mark said quietly. “It’s been notarized. It’s legally enforceable. Lucien and Florin have copies. They can hold me accountable if I fail to honor any part of it.”
