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Paris was a new chapter for us. I didn’t know why it was so, what had shifted, what was growing between the two of us, and we didn’t speak of it much, as though afraid we’d talk ourselves out of this spell.

It wasn’t my first time in Paris, but it was the first time I saw it through the eyes of a lover.

There was something in the air, a softer filter over the skyline day and night. Rose-colored glasses indeed.

I admitted to him that I loved the French custom of greeting with a kiss on both cheeks. He kissed my cheeks until I giggled and at least twenty times a day after that.

And we talked. He told me about his business interests. The fortune he’d made and lost, the one he was building again. He was passionate about it, which I had a cursory understanding of. He tried to explain it to me. He bought valuable, calculated pieces of land and built on them, then leased out the buildings and made a steady fortune in the bargain. It sounded a bit boring to me, but it clearly drove him. I gleaned that he was just as driven to surpass his father someday.

It was mid-morning. We were still abed. It was my only full day off on the trip, and we were taking full advantage.

I told him about some of my business ideas, things I’d been working on with his father. My ventures were adding up quickly. What had started out as a small idea to collaborate with Morphe for some signature matte liquid lip colors with my name attached had quickly sprouted into a full-on cosmetics line, brushes included. And I’d gone from modeling for Stuart Weitzman to designing my own shoe line.

As I spoke he watched me intently. His eyes were so soft. All that cold gray had gone melting warm.

Why were they melting at me? Why were they melting me?

“Can I ask you something?” he asked me. “I’m not trying to fight, I want to keep this truce. I’m just curious.”

“That sounds ominous, but go for it.”

“Why’d you do it?”

I couldn’t help it, I flinched just the slightest bit. Things were going so well. Why did he want to drag this up? It was bound to happen sooner or later, I supposed.

I chose my words carefully. “I guess I saw the writing on the wall. Models are a dime a dozen. We’re throwaway creatures. For most of my career, I’ve shared a tiny room in a tiny apartment with eight other girls.”

“You make good money,” he pointed out.

My mouth twisted bitterly. “I make great money now. And I did well enough before, I suppose, but most of the money I’ve made has gone toward my family, in one way or another.”

“Tell me about them. Your parents.”

Eyeing him warily, I did. “My dad was laid off at his job at GM exactly one week after my mom was diagnosed with bone cancer. I had the opportunity to move to New York for modeling. I did it. I wanted to be with her, but I felt useless staying when I could leave and help make ends meet.”

“Jesus. How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Is that even legal?”

I shrugged. “My parents agreed to it, so yes, and my agency helped me get set up in an apartment, like I said, with eight other girls. For that they got a percentage of my jobs, and what I didn’t need for food or transportation, I sent back to my dad. Every spare cent I made went to my mother’s bills. None of it saved her. My dad swore it helped, but it clearly didn’t help enough. My mom didn’t last a year.”

“My god. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I regret leaving her. I was so busy working to help that I didn’t see her much in the end. And when she was gone, I still didn’t go back home. I wanted to stay busy. Distract myself out of my grief, ya know? So I stayed, kept working, figuring my dad still needed help with his bills anyway.”

“You were a good daughter.” He had the grace to look sheepish. “I’d heard they passed, but not all the details. Tell me the rest.”

“On March 26th.” I saw him flinch at the date, the same day as our wedding. “The two year anniversary of my mother’s death, my dad’s crappy old truck broke down on the side of the road. It was below freezing and his cell didn’t have any service. He fell asleep in his truck and never woke up. Strangers found him a full day later. I was saving up to get him a better car. I was too late by two months,” I finished bitterly. “After that I became obsessed with planning for a better future. I planned how to never be two months behind surviving again.”

He stroked my hair comfortingly and I let him. And I kept sharing.

“Modeling’s a volatile industry. We’re young, vulnerable, and for sale. This business is full of corruption, especially for a single girl without any protection. Not a good scene. When I lost my parents, I felt very alone. And far from safe. I didn’t have anyone. I was so alone. That’s why I’d never had a drink before the wedding. The parties my agency sent me to . . . I was afraid of being drugged. It happened to girls all the time, and they’d just shrug it off, like it was part of the job. I wasn’t willing to shrug that off. Modeling’s not known for its job security. And say I get a nasty scar or gain fifteen pounds. It’s all over. I won’t even get into how fast I’ll age out of it.” I paused. “I wanted security.”

“You could have tried to find security and love.”

I stared at him. “How naive do you think I am?”