“Mia? Hey, Mia!” someone calls just before I descend the stairs to the métro station.

I turn around.

Sandro looks me over and then throws his arms around me. “Ça alors! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you write you were coming to France?”

“I… I was going to,” I mumble.

And I really was. During my stint at DCA, Barbara, Delphine, and Sandro had become more than colleagues. When a year ago I announced my imminent departure, they insisted on a going-away dinner at Delphine’s and made me promise to stay in touch.

Toward the end of the evening, Delphine cornered me as I was exiting the bathroom. “Are you OK?”

“Yes, why?”

“I heard you barf in there.”

“I’m bulimic,” I lied.

“Mais bien sûr.” She tilted her head to the left. “And I was born yesterday.”

I held my chin up, refusing to say more.

Thankfully, she didn’t insist—she just shook her head and stepped aside to let me return to the dining table.

In her first two or three emails after I left Paris, she reminded me she wasn’t buying my story, but then dropped the subject.

Sandro and Barbara never questioned my irresistible job offer tale.

I look at my watch and then at Sandro. The day nursery closes in forty-five minutes.

“Are you in a hurry?” he asks.

I smile apologetically.

“No problem,” he says. “Are you free to join your former colleagues for lunch on Friday? Barb, Delphine, and I are having a special one to celebrate my promotion.”

I high-five him. “Go Sandro! I’m so happy for you!”

“So you’ll come?”

“What’s the venue?” I ask, hoping it isn’t the the canteen.

Not that Raphael eats there often, but I’m not taking any chances.

“We’re venturing to La Coupole,” Sandro says.

Phew.

La Coupole is spicy, but it’s far from DCA.

I give him a big smile. “I’ll be happy to join in the celebration.”

We say good-bye, and I rush down the stairs.

When Lily and I get home and I call Eva, she’s over the moon about my news.

“That means you’re staying in Paris,” she shouts. “And I’ll be able to see my little niece every weekend if I want!”

I hold the phone away from my ear while she hollers in French, English, and German. “Youppi! Woohoo! Wunderbar!”

That’s international civil servants for you. After three years at the European Space Agency, Eva feels compelled to repeat her French interjections in the other two working languages of her organization.

“Is Raphael still in the dark about her?” she asks all of a sudden.

I clear my throat. “He has no clue about her existence, and it’s better this way.”

“If you think so.”

“I know so.”

“I take it you haven’t told him you’re in Paris, either?”

“No. And I’ll kill you if you do.”

“Are you going to try and cook for me again?” she asks. “The dinner you made when I visited you in Fort-de-France almost killed me.”

“No, I’ll tickle you this time. I’ll start with your neck, then move to your armpits and finish with your feet.”

“Mercy,” Eva squeaks. “Not the feet! I’ll do anything you want me to, just don’t tickle my feet.”

“I want your silence.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.” Her voice is back to normal. “But you’ll have to tell Màma and Pàpa about Lily sometime soon, real soon.”

“I know.”

“How about you take her to Alsace next weekend?”

“I’m not ready.”

“OK,” she says. “I understand. But the longer you wait, the harder it’ll be for them to forgive you for hiding her.”

“What makes you think they’ll forgive me for having her in the first place?”

Eva scoffs. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m being realistic. You know what Màma thinks about having sex and making babies outside of wedlock.”

“She’ll change her mind the moment she sees Lily.”

“I don’t think so.” I let out a sigh. “And what about Pàpa?”

“What about him?”

“You know what he thinks about… women like me.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

Shit.

Of course she doesn’t. How would she? She had slept like a baby through both chapters of the Suzelle the Sinner Affair.

“Never mind,” I say.

“No, tell me. I insist.”

“Lily just woke up,” I lie. “Can we talk about this later?”

“OK.” There’s a brief silence before Eva speaks again, “Anyway, I’m really happy you’re staying in Paris. Martinique may be lovely, but it’s so damn far away.”

We hang up, and I tiptoe to the kitchen. As I start peeling potatoes for our dinner, I take care to make as little noise as possible so I don’t wake up Lily, who’s napping in the main room behind a folding screen.

My herzele is a light sleeper just like me.

Which is probably the only feature she and I have in common at this point. She hasn’t inherited my auburn hair or green eyes. Neither does she have Raphael’s darker coloring. Lily is a blue-eyed, curly-haired blonde with a skin like porcelain.

I bet she’s going to turn heads, which may be the only thing she and her dad will have in common.

How many heads has Raphael turned since I left? Is he still a committed bad boy or did he meet someone special? Does he think of me sometimes?

Damn!

I can’t believe I’m doing this again. Were all those self-help books and auto-suggestion drills for nothing? Moving On was the title of the first one I bought. Wipe Him Out of Your Memory was the second. How to Get Over Your Ex in Three Months (with a Money Back Guarantee) was the third and most expensive one I read.

It’s been fourteen months, for Christ’s sake.

Maybe I should ask for a refund.

Except I won’t get it because even though I did everything the books recommended, I failed to implement the number one strategy all three insisted on. Dating someone new. I’d been planning to, and there had been opportunities, but I always had an excuse to put it off.

At the beginning, I told myself I’d just gotten there and was busy settling in. Then my belly started to show, and it completely killed the mood. Once Lily was born, I put everything else on hold and spent three months being her appendage.

When she became a little more autonomous, I had to finish my dissertation and make arrangements for the defense.

And then I travelled to Paris.

Wait—I could date here.

I slap my forehead. It’s a brilliant idea!

A new man in my life is what I need to free me from the “Raphael Syndrome” once and for all. And that new man could be Xavier. Why not give him a chance? We have so much in common that it would be hard to find a more suitable man.

It’s decided, then.

For the sake of my sanity and, by extension, for Lily’s sake, the dating strategy deserves a try.

No, it deserves my best shot. I nod with determination as if to seal the deal and start dicing the zucchini.

And then someone knocks on the door.