CHAPTER 4
Mark
The steering wheel was warm under my hands as I drove through midday traffic, a smile playing at my lips.
I had already made reservations for lunch at The Farmer’s Fork—Amelia’s favorite restaurant. She’d be so surprised when I showed up at home to whisk her away. We hadn’t done something spontaneous like this in the past few months when I got too busy chasing after my promotion.
Last night was incredible. The way she’d responded to me, covered in dirt and clay and desire, completely uninhibited—God, sex with Amelia was amazing. Always had been. She knew exactly what I liked, and I knew exactly what she wanted, and we fit together like two halves of an english muffin.
Fifteen years and she could still make me lose my mind.
I merged into the left lane, my thoughts drifting as the radio played softly.
But even as I thought about last night, about how perfect we were together, that familiar restlessness crept in. That wondering. That curiosity about what else was out there.
It wasn’t that Amelia wasn’t enough. She was. She absolutely was.
But I’d never been with anyone else. Not once. My entire adult life, my entire sexual experience—all of it was with one woman.
One wonderful, beautiful, perfect woman.
But still. Just one.
I thought about the guys at work. Oliver, who’d slept with dozens of women before settling down. Jeff in accounting, who’d had a wild twenties full of hookups and adventures. Even my college roommate had racked up double-digit partners before graduation.
And me? Just Amelia.
Some men would cheat. I knew plenty who did—sneaking around, lying to their wives, living double lives. That was disgusting. Dishonorable. I would never do that to Amelia. Never.
But what if there was another way? A way where we could both explore, both experience variety, both rediscover ourselves—together, with full honesty and transparency?
That’s what this Paris arrangement would be. Equal opportunity for both of us. Amelia could date, could experience other men, could see what else was out there.
We’d come back stronger. More appreciative of each other. More in love, even.
That’s how it worked, right? People who opened their marriages, they did it because they were so secure, so confident in their love, that they knew nothing could threaten it. A little variety, a little spice, it wasn’t a threat. It was an enhancement.
If only Amelia would agree.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
What if she didn’t? What if last night was her way of trying to change my mind, of showing me what I’d be missing if I pushed this?
No. I wouldn’t cheat on her. I couldn’t. If she said no to the arrangement, I’d drop it completely.
Or... maybe I just needed to present it better. Show her the research. There were studies about this, articles, and whole communities of people who practiced ethical non-monogamy successfully. I could show her that this was legitimate, that lots of couples did it and came out happier.
People who opened their marriages weren’t insecure or falling apart. They were the opposite—so secure in their love that they could share their spouse with someone else without fear. That’s strength. That’s real commitment.
If Amelia didn’t agree at lunch, I’d explain all of that.
I pulled into our driveway, grabbed the bouquet of peonies I’d picked up, and headed inside.
The house was quiet except for the faint classical music drifting up from the basement. I tiptoed down the stairs. The studio door was ajar, and I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching her.
She was bent over her pottery wheel, completely absorbed in shaping a vase.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, loose strands falling around her face.
She wore old jeans that hugged her curves perfectly and a fitted t-shirt that had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at her lower back.
My beautiful wife.
She reached for a sculpting tool on the table, bending forward, and I felt heat rush through me. God, her ass in those jeans. The curve of her hips. I wanted to walk up behind her right now, pull her against me, and relive last night’s messy passion all over again.
I knocked softly on the door frame.
Amelia jumped, spinning around with a startled gasp. When she saw me, her face transformed. Surprise bloomed into joy, and a smile spread across her beautiful face.
“What are you doing here?” She laughed, wiping her muddy hands on a towel.
“I’m here to take you out on a lunch date.”
“Really?” She was already moving toward me, crossing the studio in quick steps.
She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me, tasting like coffee and mint. I pulled her close, breathing.
“Is something special?” she asked when we pulled apart.
“Nothing much. I just want to take my beautiful wife out for lunch.” I paused, feeling the weight of what I needed to say. “And talk.”
Why did I emphasize that word? The moment it left my mouth, I hated myself for it.
Amelia’s smile faltered. She raised one eyebrow, and the joy that had lit up her face just seconds ago vanished like someone had flipped a switch.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
The Farmer’s Fork was busy with the lunch crowd, but we’d gotten a table by the window overlooking their herb garden. Amelia had ordered her usual—Mediterranean salad with goat cheese—and I’d suggested we split a bottle of prosecco.
She’d barely touched her drink.
I reached across the table and took her hand. Her fingers were cold despite the warm restaurant.
“Have you thought about my proposal?” I asked gently.
Amelia stared at our joined hands. “Is it because you’re bored of me?”
“What? No,”
“After last night, I thought maybe you’d reconsider.” She looked up, and there was something vulnerable in her eyes that made my chest ache. “Are you not happy with me?”
“Of course I’m happy with you!” I squeezed her hand. “Amelia, you’re the best. You’re everything. This isn’t about being unhappy.”
“Then what is it about?”
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. “It’s about opening our horizons. Making us want each other even more. It’s for us to rediscover ourselves—both of us.”
She pulled her hand back, reaching for her prosecco.
“We’d have agreements. Boundaries.” I leaned forward. “We’d both date other people outside of each other, but only for six months. Only while we’re in Paris. And it would be strictly physical. I can’t even imagine being in love with anyone else. This is just about... variety. Experience.”
“Variety,” she repeated flatly.
“Yes. And then we come back, and we appreciate each other even more. We’ll have gotten it out of our systems.” I tried to smile. “I’m suggesting this for us, babe. What do you think?”
Amelia took a long sip of her drink. “Did you suggest this because you want to sleep with someone you know?”
Simone’s face flashed in my mind. Her red lips, her knowing smile, the way she’d leaned forward during that video call. The promise in her voice when she said anytime, day or night.
I wanted her. God, I wanted to know what she felt like, tasted like, sounded like. I wanted to unbutton that pink blouse and—
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. “It’s not about just one person. It’s about expanding our horizons. Experiencing life fully.”
I lied to Amelia. Why did I do that? But it was a white lie. It really was not only about sleeping with Simone. It really was about being more mature about our relationship.
Amelia stirred her coffee slowly, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the space between us.
“Amelia, so, what do you think?”
She took a deep breath, lowered her eyes, and said quietly, “Okay.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
My heart leaped, but something in her voice—the flatness of it—made me hesitate. “Are you sure, honey? I don’t want you to feel pressured—”
She looked up at me then, and her eyes were clear. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“You can think about it more if you need to. Take your time—”
“I said yes, Mark.” A small smile crossed her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Six months. In Paris. An open marriage. I understand the terms.”
I felt a rush of relief. Triumph, even. I’d gotten what I wanted. We were going to do this.
“I love you,” I said, reaching for her hand again. “This is going to be good for us. You’ll see.”
“I love you too,” Amelia said softly.
She picked up her fork and took a bite of her salad. We ate in silence, the happy chatter of other diners swirling around us, and I told myself this was the right decision.
We were going to Paris. We were going to explore. We were going to come back stronger.