CHAPTER 18
Mark
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized the man looking back.
Dark circles shadowed my eyes like bruises. I hadn’t shaved in days. My hair stuck up at odd angles, and my eyes looked hollow, haunted.
I looked like shit.
Ever since I’d suggested the open marriage, my life had spiraled downward faster than I could have imagined. Everything I thought I wanted had turned to ash in my hands.
And all I felt now was misery. And longing for my wife with such an intensity that the pit of my stomach hurt.
I didn’t care that she’d slept with my boss, or that she’d been with Florin. I didn’t care that she was getting all that attention and adoration from two men who could offer her things I never could.
I didn’t care about any of that because I’d brought this situation on her. I’d manipulated her into this arrangement for my own selfish reasons.
If Amelia had the time of her life with these men, I was genuinely happy for her. She deserved to be worshipped and celebrated and treated like the queen she was.
But God, I wanted her to come back to me.
I wanted my wife back.
My marketing campaign had been a disaster. Lucien hadn’t even used my test concepts. He had gone in a completely different direction with Amelia as the face. I might even be losing my job. Everything I’d worked for, thrown away.
I walked back to the bedroom, moving quietly. It was only five in the morning, but I hadn’t slept.
Amelia was in bed, her breathing soft and even. She’d come home late last night from the photoshoot and showed me the check Lucien had given her.
Eight million euros.
I still couldn’t process it. My wife had earned eight million euros for a single day of work.
I was so proud of her. So in awe of her charisma, her beauty, her natural talent in front of the camera.
She could do things I’d never thought possible. What a fool I’d been.
Even while she was at home, dedicating her entire life to my happiness and the kids’ happiness, that hadn’t diminished her competence or her potential. She’d chosen to focus on family, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of so much more.
And I’d assumed she was happy being a PTA mom who did pottery on the side. I’d never asked what she wanted. Never encouraged her to dream bigger.
What a dickhead I was.
I resolved right then: if Amelia gave me another chance, I would have open discussions with her about what she wanted. I wouldn’t assume anything. I would bend over backward to make her wishes come true.
But would she even be with me?
Restless, unable to sleep after spending the night staring at the hickies on Amelia’s neck, I went to my work desk and opened my laptop.
An email from Lucien sat at the top of my inbox. Addressed to the entire global marketing team.
I swallowed hard, bracing for bad news about my job.
Instead, I read:
Team,
I want to take a moment to praise Mark Davis for his vision for the Femme Fatale lipstick brand.
I want to commend Mark for openly encouraging his wife, Amelia Davis, to be the face of our brand.
Her authentic beauty and confidence embody everything we want Femme Fatale to represent.
She is the real woman’s woman—and she will take this brand to unprecedented heights.
This campaign will establish us as the cosmetics brand for real women everywhere.
— Lucien
I stared at the screen, rereading the words.
Lucien was praising me. For encouraging Amelia.
There was another email, this one just to me:
Mark,
You’ve shown remarkable professionalism in supporting Amelia’s involvement in this campaign despite our... complicated circumstances. Many men would have created problems. You did not.
Effective immediately, you’re receiving a significant raise and a performance bonus. Consider it recognition for your vision—and your grace.
— L
I sat back, trying to understand what I just read.
Lucien was paying me more because I hadn’t interfered with his pursuit of my wife. Because I hadn’t made problems when Amelia became the face of the campaign.
He liked Amelia that much.
And once again, I felt grateful to Amelia. Because of her, the campaign was a success. Because of her talent and beauty and presence, I was getting raises and bonuses. Not for any real contribution of mine.
My wife was saving my career while slipping away from me.
I closed the laptop and went back to bed, sliding under the covers next to her.
Amelia stirred slightly, letting out a soft moan in her sleep.
The need for her touch ached through every cell of my body.
I moved closer, carefully, not wanting to wake her but unable to stay away. I reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
In the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, she looked so beautiful it physically hurt.
What had I done?
Amelia’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me sleepily, her expression soft and unguarded in that moment between sleep and waking.
“Hey, beautiful,” I whispered.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
I moved even closer, until our faces were inches apart. I could feel her breath on my lips, could see the flecks of gold in her eyes.
Slowly, carefully, I kissed her.
Just a soft brush of lips at first. Testing. Asking permission.
Amelia’s eyes closed, and I felt her lean into the kiss just slightly. Like she was feeling it deep inside. Like maybe, just maybe, she wanted this too.
A tear tracked down my cheek. I loved her so much it was destroying me.
We kept kissing, soft and slow and tender. I savored every second, memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her lips against mine.
Then I pressed my hardness against her through her transparent nightgown, and she moaned—a sound that shot straight through me.
In that moment, I knew she wanted me too.
I pulled her thigh up to my waist, our bodies fitting together the way they always had. I kissed her ear, the hollow of her neck where another man had left marks.
“Yes, Mark,” Amelia breathed. “Yes...”
I slid her nightgown up, pulled down her panties. She was wet—ready for me.
Our lovemaking was soft and deep and achingly tender. I gave her pleasure in waves, slow and building, and I knew from the sounds she made, from the way her body responded to mine, that she was loving every moment.
This was us. Mark and Amelia. The way we’d always been.
And as she came apart in my arms, calling my name, I held onto the hope that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.
Maybe there was still a chance to save us.