CHAPTER 5
Amelia
The Paris skyline emerged through the airplane window like a postcard come to life—the Eiffel Tower rising elegant and unmistakable against the afternoon sky, the Seine snaking through the city in silver curves.
Mark squeezed my hand, smiling at me with that boyish excitement that had made me fall in love with him all those years ago.
“There it is,” he whispered. “The City of Love.”
I should have been thrilled. We were finally here, in the world’s most romantic city. Just the two of us, for six months of adventure and discovery.
Instead, my stomach churned with anxiety.
The plane descended, and I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching Paris grow larger below us. Somewhere back in New York, Noah and Brook were probably having breakfast with my parents. I’d promised to call as soon as we landed.
God, I missed them already.
“You okay?” Mark asked, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.
“Just thinking about the kids.”
“They’ll be fine. Your parents are probably spoiling them rotten as we speak.”
He was right. Mom had practically cried with joy when we’d dropped them off yesterday, already planning trips to the zoo and the aquarium and promising to make all their favorite foods.
But that wasn’t what was really bothering me.
I turned my head and looked at Mark’s features. He was still so handsome. What we both had was so perfect, so enviable. Then why? Why did he want to sleep with someone else?
His words had been echoing in my head for weeks now, ever since that lunch at The Farmer’s Fork when I’d agreed to this insane arrangement.
Mark would have so many opportunities here.
He’d be meeting beautiful, sophisticated French women, who’d be more than happy flirting with my husband.
Flirting, and having sex with him. The thought made me wince.
I closed my eyes. He’d be sleeping with them.
Kissing them. Touching them the way he touched me.
And me? I didn’t want to date anyone. I was not ready for it. The thought of going on dates with strangers, of letting someone else touch me didn’t seem appealing at all.
When Mark first told me about Paris, I’d imagined something completely different. Cultural tours of museums, romantic walks along the Seine, discovering hidden cafés and art galleries together. Culinary adventures and lazy Sunday mornings in bed and all the things we never had time for at home.
I’d never imagined I’d be expected to go on dates with other men.
But if I didn’t do this—if I said no—I’d lose Mark forever. I could feel it. This wasn’t just a passing fantasy for him. This was something he really wanted.
Maybe it would just be a phase. Maybe after a few weeks, he’d realize how ridiculous this all was and we could go back to normal.
But what if it wasn’t a phase? What if he loved it so much that he wanted to keep the marriage open even after we returned home? What if six months turned into forever?
What would I do then?
The plane’s wheels touched down with a gentle bump, and Mark squeezed my hand again.
“Welcome to the city that will change our lives,” he said, grinning.
I forced myself to smile back, even as those words made my heart sink.
Change our lives.
Yes. I was terrified that’s exactly what would happen.
Monday morning arrived too quickly.
Mark and I sat side by side on the couch in our temporary apartment, my laptop balanced between us as we waited for the FaceTime call to connect.
When Brook’s face filled the screen, my heart squeezed so tight I could barely breathe.
“Mommy! Daddy!” She was wearing her favorite purple shirt—the one with the unicorn on it that she refused to let me wash. “Guess what? Grandma made pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse!”
“That sounds amazing, sweetheart,” I said, drinking in every detail of her face. Had she always had that many freckles across her nose?
“When are you coming home?” she asked.
“Not for a while, honey. But we’ll call you every day, okay?”
Noah muscled his way into the frame, pushing Brook aside. “Look!” He opened his mouth wide, wiggling one of his front teeth with his tongue. “It’s so loose! Grandpa says it’ll fall out any day now!”
“Wow, buddy! Make sure you save it for the tooth fairy.”
“Grandma says the tooth fairy gives extra money if you write her a note,” Noah said, looking all serious. “Is that true?”
Mark laughed. “Sounds like Grandma knows what she’s talking about.”
We talked for another ten minutes—about their first night at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, about the dog next door who barked all night, and the construction happening down the street. Normal, everyday things that made me ache with homesickness.
When we finally said goodbye and the screen went black, I felt tears prickling behind my eyes.
“They’re okay,” Mark said gently, putting his arm around me. “They’re happy.”
“I know.”
He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I should get going. Big day today. Meeting with the whole Paris team.”
I watched him move around the apartment, straightening his tie in the mirror, checking his phone, grabbing his briefcase. He looked good—really good. He’d gotten his hair trimmed before we left New York, and he was wearing the navy suit that made his shoulders look broader.
“I have a work dinner tonight,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “I’ll probably be late.”
Work dinner. Right.
But he was dressed too nicely for just work. And there was something in his voice—an excitement, an anticipation—that made me sick.
“Oh. Okay.”
“You should download that app I told you about,” he added, pulling on his jacket. “The one for expats in Paris. You could make some friends. Or maybe...” He paused. “Maybe find a date?”
My husband was helping me find a date. God, tell me this was not happening.
“Have you already found someone?” I asked quietly.
“Not yet. But tonight, I’m going to keep my options open.” He came over and kissed my forehead. “I’ll always communicate openly with you, Amelia. I promise. I’ll never keep you in the dark about my dates.”
His dates. Already plural.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“I love you.” He kissed me again, this time on the lips. Quick and perfunctory. “See you tonight.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone in our beautiful, elegant apartment.
I sat at the small kitchen table, a buttery croissant on a plate in front of me, a cup of coffee cooling beside it.
The croissant was perfect—flaky and golden, melting on my tongue when I took a bite. Everything they said about French pastries was true.
I pulled my laptop toward me and opened the browser, navigating to the expat app Mark had mentioned. Maybe if I made some friends, this wouldn’t feel so lonely. Maybe I could find other women in similar situations—expat wives navigating life in a foreign city.
The app loaded, showing various groups and meetups. There was a book club, a cooking class, a hiking group. Several coffee meetups scheduled for later in the week.
But nothing today. Nothing right now when I needed it most.
I scrolled through profiles of smiling women, all of them looking confident and put-together and like they belonged here in ways I never would.
Frustration bubbled up in my chest. I slammed the laptop shut.
“Fuck this,” I muttered to the empty apartment. “Fuck everyone. I don’t need anyone.”
I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
If Mark could go out and explore Paris on his terms, so could I. I didn’t need an app or a group or permission from anyone. This was Paris—the city I’d dreamed about visiting my entire life. I wasn’t going to waste it sitting alone in this apartment feeling sorry for myself.
I showered quickly, the water pressure surprisingly strong and hot. In the bedroom, I rifled through my suitcase until I found my favorite pink summer dress I. I pulled it on, added a light cardigan in case the weather turned, and grabbed my purse.
The streets of Le Marais awaited.
And maybe—just maybe—I’d find something in this city that was mine alone.
I locked the door behind me and stepped out into the Paris afternoon, determined to find whatever piece of myself I’d lost somewhere between agreeing to this arrangement and arriving in this beautiful, terrifying city.
I spent the rest of the day strolling along the streets of Paris, taking in the beauty of the city of lights.
I was determined not to let anything bring me down.
I was alone, but for the first time since we landed, I was not lonely.
The crisp summer air and the delicious goat cheese and tomato salad I had at a quaint brassiere were enough to make me feel more positive about the whole situation.
While sipping on a heavenly cup of cappuccino at a cafe overlooking the Seine, I noticed a slip of paper fluttering under the ashtray on my table.
I picked it up. It was a flyer for a painting and sculpture exhibition by someone named Florin Blancet.
It was in two days in an art gallery in Marais.
A quick internet search revealed it was just fifteen minutes away from our apartment.
The pictures of some of the paintings were so mesmerising, I couldn’t put the flyer away. Was this a sign from the universe?
Maybe this was the purpose of my trip—to rediscover myself, to explore a new part of the world, and in the process, connecting to the parts of my soul that had stayed hidden under the roles of a wife and mother all these years.
At that moment, I decided to explore those parts of me, one day at a time—starting with the painting exhibition.