Raphael is a morning person, so I kind of knew the part of my fantasy where I wake up in his arms might not happen. Based on prior experience, it occurred no more than twenty percent of the time.

The thing is I’m a hopeless night owl. Especially these days, when I get up for Lily once or twice during the night.

Last night was no exception.

Her whimpers woke me up at around three. She wanted her pacifier and my company. I know that the right thing to do is to let her cry herself back to sleep. It’s the only way to tell her mommy won’t be getting up for her in the middle of the night anymore. I’ve read several clever articles and a whole book on the subject. All of them guarantee that baby stops waking up at night after a couple of weeks of such treatment.

I’m definitely planning to try it… some day.

The truth is I love those cuddle sessions as much as I hate being woken up in the middle of the night.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s ten.

As I begin to envisage getting up, the door to the en suite bathroom opens and Raphael ambles in naked except for a towel wrapped around his hips. His dark hair is combed back and damp from his shower. I take all of that in as I arch my back and stretch my limbs. He halts by the bed. With an appreciative smile, I clasp my hands under my head and survey him.

Yummy.

I eye his handsome face, lingering on his lips and breathtaking jawline. Then my gaze travels to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest and further down to his hard abs. A fine line of black hair runs from his belly button down into the towel. My breathing grows shallow. I expect him to unwrap the towel and lie next to me, but when I level my gaze with his, he’s grinning.

He opens his right hand to show me something.

It’s tiny, fluffy, and pink.

And it’s a pair.

Lily’s socks.

“I stopped next door to check on Lily and found these on the floor,” he says. “What a ridiculous size.”

“You should’ve seen her newborn socks six months ago.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You mean four, right? Seeing as she was born only four months ago.”

Crap.

“Yes,” I say. “Of course. I mean four.”

He doesn’t press the matter further.

I wonder if he believes me. Probably not. But whatever suspicions he might harbor on Lily’s account, he’s choosing to respect my choice and keep them to himself.

Unless it isn’t from respect but from his preference to remain childless and family-less. A preference he’s voiced clearly and repeatedly many times.

Raphael pulls one little sock over his left ear and the other over his right ear. “Do I look good?”

“Perfectly silly,” I say.

“You’re being socksist.”

I raise my brows.

“Haven’t you heard about sockers?” he asks. “I converted while you were in Martinique. My religion prescribes that I wear pink socks on my ears at least ten minutes every day.”

I roll my eyes.

He sits down next to me, his expression growing sober. “We’re gonna go exclusive, like the first time around, right?”

I look away, my mouth refusing to tell him there won’t be a second time.

“No,” I finally say.

His mouth gapes, then flattens in comprehension. “You’re seeing someone.”

I nod.

“Is it serious?”

“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “We’re sort of colleagues, and I’ve only had one date with him.”

He gives me a forced smile. “OK, then. I hope you choose me before you reach the five-date threshold with him. Assuming you still adhere to that rule of thumb.”

“I do.”

He shakes his head, incredulous. “I never dreamed Mia Stoll would agree to a non-exclusive arrangement, let alone ask for it.”

“There won’t be any arrangement between us this time around,” I say. “What happened here was a one-off.”

He gives me a long, hard stare. “You can’t resist me, Mia. We both know that.”

“Then don’t put me in a position where I have to resist,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Why are you so hell-bent on driving me away when you want me so much?”

“Because you’re toxic.”

He flinches at my epithet.

“That came out meaner than I intended.” I sit up and cup his cheek gently. “What I wanted to say is that I’ll never be able to fall for another man if you stick around.”

His eyes bore into mine. “When you say you won’t be able to fall for another man, does that mean you’ve fallen for me?”

I study a speck on the sheet.

“Does that mean you’re in love with me, Mia?” he asks.

I nod, my gaze still on the sheet.

“Then let me ask you this: Why are you so hell-bent on falling for another man if you’re in love with me?”

“Because…” I give him a pleading look. “Don’t you see how we’re after completely different things? All you want from a relationship is a fun time. You won’t even call it a relationship, for Christ’s sake. You call it an arrangement.”

I lift up my chin, daring him to say I’m wrong.

He doesn’t.

“I want more than that,” I say. “A lot more. I want something solid and long-term. And that means I need to find a man who wants the same thing.”

A part of me hopes against hope he’ll say, “That’s my wish, too, Mia. I’ve changed. I want to be there for you and Lily.”

When he opens his mouth, my muscles are so tense with apprehension it’s surprising they don’t snap.

“I see,” he says.

I hang onto a glimmer of hope a little longer, but he doesn’t add anything to his “I see.”

Slowly, I breathe out, hiding my disappointment the best I can.

That’s when my handbag beeps on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Saved by the gong.

I rush to it and fish out my phone.

“I’m expecting an important email,” I lie and click on the notification on the screen without reading it.

The message that opens up makes me forget my letdown. It makes me forget to breathe. I read it once, then once more, and then a third time in a crazy hope it will melt away before my eyes. But it doesn’t. If anything, its words appear bigger and their lowercase letters scream louder than the caps of Gaspard’s one-sentence notes a year ago.

Hello, Mia.

You thought you could just change your phone and email to make this go away, didn’t you? You should’ve changed your name.

I’ll be in Paris next week. I know you have your defense coming up, so you won’t run again.

Meet me next Saturday at noon, in the same diner. If you don’t show, the tape hits the Internet, and I mail it to your parents the same day.

You will not get a third chance.

So, choose wisely this time.

Gaspard