She was going to have her face-offs today, or she’d go nuts.

Last night Fred had come home when Natalie was already in bed. She pretended to be asleep, but ended up spending a sleepless night thinking about Adrien and what had happened yesterday by the Metro entrance. Not only had she allowed him to kiss her, she had kissed him back—until she remembered who she was. What a mess! Or was it some stupid, unconscious attempt at retaliation? It was so wrong on so many levels, but mostly because Adrien didn’t deserve to be used.

This time she arrived at La Bohème at half past four. Adrien wasn’t there. Good. The blue-haired waitress was. Excellent.

She sat down and waited to be noticed. The bistro was half-empty, and the staff were sharing a meal. There seemed to be a lot of camaraderie among them, judging by their easy conversation and frequent laughs. As she watched them, she reflected on how satisfying it was to relate to people without effort, without considering every possible implication of what you wanted to say. The way she related to her parents and to Marie. The way she related to Adrien. The way she’d never been able to relate to Fred. Was it because Fred was a complicated person? Or was it because she was unable to behave naturally around him, always wary of what was at stake, of how much he meant to her?

The blue-haired waitress came over to take her order. Finally, some luck.

“I’d like a café crème, please,” Natalie said.

“Anything else?”

Before Natalie could open her mouth to say she wanted to have a word, the waitress asked with a smile, “Are you a friend of Adrien’s?”

“Um . . .not really. Why?”

“Just curious. He’s a longtime patron, and I noticed him chatting a lot with you lately.” She smiled playfully.

Natalie took a deep breath. “I’ve made an observation, too—you chatting a lot with Fred, my longtime boyfriend.”

The waitress stared at her for a few seconds and knitted her brow. “What are you talking about? Fred doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Yes he does. He even lives with her. Haven’t you wondered why he hasn’t invited you to his place?” Natalie smirked.

“He had to move out from his old place and is crashing at a friend’s until he finds something suitable.”

That hurt. “Well, he lied to you. Fred hasn’t moved out. And I’m not sure he intends to.”

The waitress fingered her choker. “I don’t know what to say . . .I hate cheating and cheaters. I broke up with my ex because of that. And now you’re telling me I’m the other woman.”

“Isn’t it ironic?” Natalie smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The waitress frowned. “Fucking liar.”

“Jeanne, Pepe needs a hand!” One of her colleagues called to her from behind the bar.

So her name was Jeanne. What a sweet old-fashioned name, so at odds with her looks.

“Coming!” She turned back to Natalie and gave her a determined look. “I want you to know I’m through with Fred. He’s all yours if you still want him . . .And I am sorry.”

Natalie held her gaze. “Not as much as I am.”

She left the bistro feeling emptyhearted, as if the joy of life had been sucked out of her by a Death Eater from the Harry Potter books. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, jostled by passersby, and tried to compose herself.

At least it wasn’t raining. Natalie caught a glimpse of the sun and knew where to go: the Beaubourg Center. It was her favorite place in Paris. An inside-out monstrosity of a building where—between its piazza, exhibits, library, and cinema—she always found something to do.

This time, she stayed outside in the piazza, watching jugglers, musicians, and mimes. They were so good at what they did. And funny, too. They were entertaining enough to keep her from thinking about her next showdown and the impeding breakup. And about how her dream of family and children was crumbling in front of her eyes like a sand castle licked by angry waves.

It was nine when she arrived at her doorstep, having spent several hours and all the cash in her purse at the Beaubourg Center. She opened the door. Fred’s raincoat was on the hook and his briefcase on the floor.

She drew in a fortifying breath and stepped over the threshold.

“Nat?” He said from the living room.

She didn’t answer.

He came into the foyer as she was removing her shoes. He looked tired.

She strode past him into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. He followed her.

“I guess you know that I know,” she said.

He nodded.

Now he’ll tell me he’s dumping me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” His face was red.

She waited.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Nat. I never meant to hurt you.”

She turned to refill her glass and stayed with her back to him.

You won’t see me come undone.

“You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

Get on with it already.

“You’re pure, you’re kind, you’re classy—”

She spun around. “For Christ’s sake, will you please cut to the chase, or shall I say it for you?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at her.

“You’re leaving me because you’re not ready for what I want, right? Or because you fell in love with another woman.”

She was grateful now for the Death Eater’s attack earlier. The last thing she wanted was for Fred to watch her fall apart.

“See, I can handle it,” she said.

“Is that what you expected?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Why, you have another reason for breaking up with me?”

“I don’t want us to break up. I want you to forgive me. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

Natalie tried to wrap her mind around it. So, he wasn’t dumping her. Was it because the waitress had dumped him first and he had no one else? Or had it never been part of the plan?

“I made a mistake—the kind of stupid thing men do sometimes. You started this talk about having a baby . . .and I guess I just freaked out. Jeanne doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said.

“And what about me, Fred? What do I mean to you?”

“My home. My future.” He took a step toward her. “You are the woman I want by my side. The woman I want to grow old with.”

She touched the hollow of her neck, her hand shaking.

He took another step and grabbed her hand. “You’re the woman I’d want to be the mother of my child, if I ever have one.”

She searched his eyes. In three years, he’d never told her anything remotely close to this. Did he need to have an affair with another woman to realize what she meant to him? Did he need to risk losing her to admit he cared for her?

He brushed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Will you marry me, Natalie?”

She stopped breathing. Everything felt unreal, heightened and distant at the same time, like an old Technicolor movie. Fred was gazing into her eyes beseechingly, all his usual self-confidence gone. He was begging her to accept her most cherished dream. How crazy was that? And how could she say no? How could she reject his offer, now that her dream was so close she could almost touch it?

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll marry you.”