And I laughed too. A full, genuine laugh that felt like light breaking through clouds. A lightness I hadn’t felt since that night in New Jersey when Mark had first proposed the open marriage.
When Mark set me down, Lucien and Florin were smiling too.
Lucien took my hands and kissed them. “You deserve happiness, Amelia. Whatever form that takes.”
Florin hugged me tight. “You’ll always be my muse,” he whispered. “No matter what you choose.”
Then they shook hands with Mark, and left, leaving Mark and me alone in the private booth.
We sat in silence for a moment, both of us processing what had just happened.
“So,” Mark said finally, his voice still shaky. “What do you want to do?”
I thought about it. Thought about the apartment, about the complicated mess of the past six months, about everything that lay ahead.
“I want to see Paris,” I said. “With you.”
We left the café as the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
Mark took my hand—tentative at first, then more confident when I squeezed back.
And we walked toward the Seine like two people who’d lost and found each other in the City of Light.
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
Amelia
The sound of giggling pulled me from sleep.
I kept my eyes closed, smiling as I listened to Brook and Noah in the bathroom down the hall, bickering over whose turn it was to use the sink.
“You always take forever brushing your teeth!”
“Do not! You’re just impatient!”
More giggling. The sound of running water. The familiar chaos of a school morning.
From downstairs, the smell of something delicious wafted up—cinnamon, butter, maybe pancakes?
“Kids! Breakfast is ready!” Mark’s voice called from the kitchen. “Come eat so you’re not late for school!”
Thunder of footsteps on the stairs. Then, predictably, they detoured into my bedroom.
“Mommy!” Noah launched himself onto the bed, nearly knocking the wind out of me. “Dad’s making chocolate chip pancakes!”
Brook was more careful, settling beside me and kissing my cheek. “You were out late last night. How was the party?”
I pulled them both close, breathing in their shampoo-scented hair. “It was good, sweetheart. Lots of important people talking about important things.”
“Did you wear the sparkly dress?” Noah asked.
“I did.”
“I bet you looked like a princess,” he said matter-of-factly.
The party had been for the launch of my new campaign with a major fashion house—my third big contract sincethe Femme Fatale ads had made me, as my agent liked to say, “the face of real women everywhere.”
