The disappointment that had been crushing my chest suddenly lifted. “Together? Really?”
“Really. Six months in Paris. Just you and me.”
“But what about the kids?”
“We could leave them with your parents. The timing works perfectly—we’d leave right when summer break starts. They’d have the whole summer with their grandparents, and then once school opens, they’d be in school most of the day anyway. And Mary Lynn—”
“Mary Lynn would be there,” I finished, already thinking it through. Our babysitter was more than hired help. She was practically family at this point, and had been watching Noah and Brook since they were babies. The kids adored her, and she adored them. And my parents, they’d practically leap at the opportunity of keeping Noah and Brooke for six months, spoiling them to no bounds.
Six months. In Paris. With Mark.
When was the last time we’d done something like this? Just the two of us, no kids, no responsibilities beyond each other? Our honeymoon, maybe, fifteen years ago on that beach in Mexico where it rained half the time but we didn’t care because we had each other and a hotel room and nothing but time.
Paris. The most romantic city in the world. Mark and I, walking along the Seine, eating croissants in sidewalk cafés, exploring museums, making wild love without worrying about little footsteps in the hallway.
It could be like an extended honeymoon cum adventure.
Mark was watching my face carefully, waiting for my reaction.
“Yes!” The word burst out of me. “Heck yes! Let’s do this, Mr. Davis!”
His relief was visible, his whole body relaxing. We both started laughing, giddy with the possibility of it, and then we were kissing again, and I was already imagining us in Paris, imagining the version of ourselves we could be there, away from the routines and responsibilities that had slowly, imperceptibly, made us forget sometimes that we were more than just parents and partners—we were Mark and Amelia, the people who’d fallen in love over coffee and conversation all those years ago.
We pulled apart, both breathing hard, and I reached for my champagne glass.
Then Mark cleared his throat.
“There’s... there’s one more thing.”
The way he said it—the hesitation, the slight drop in his voice—made something cold settle in the pit of my stomach.
I set my glass down carefully. “What thing?”
CHAPTER3
Amelia
My hands moved through the clay, kneading and wedging, preparing it for the wheel.
My heart was shattered into a thousand pieces, but I still had forty jewelry dishes and thirty vases to finish for the PTA fundraiser.
The studio in the basement was my sanctuary—the one space in our home that was entirely mine. Mark had built it for me two years ago, installing the pottery wheel, the kiln, the shelving for my pieces. He’d painted the walls a soft cream color I’d chosen and hung good lights so I could work at night.
He’d done all of that because he loved me.
Or so I thought.
Amelia, It’s just an experiment. It’s for us to explore new possibilities. But if you say no, I’d drop it right now. The only thing is, in that case, maybe it wouldn’t make so much sense for you to uproot what you have here to come to Paris.
An open marriage? I thought these things happened only in movies. Or to other couples who live under the same roof yet detest one another. The concept was so foreign to me that it hadn’t even deserved mindspace in my head.
But now it was real. Too real. The moment those words came out of Mark’s mouth, they became a permanent entity in our marriage, and even if I said no, it would always be present in between Mark and I, always mocking me, always making me realize I was not enough for my husband.
How could he propose such a thing? How could he stand there in our kitchen, after spinning me around and kissing me, after talking about celebrating together in Paris, and then casually suggest we date other people?
My hands pressed too hard into the clay, my fingers sinking deep.
I thought we were happy. I thought we had what everyone else wanted—real love, real partnership, real connection. How many times had we said it to each other? “Nobody gets each other the way we do.” “We’re so lucky to have found this.”
