"Well, for starters, sometimes it feels like you're always in control. I'm always the one waiting for your signal, asking myself a million questions. When will I see you next? Where will you take me?" I explain. "I wanted to be the one who made you wonder, for once."

"Well, you certainly achieved your goal. Do you not like the way our arrangement works?" he asks, genuine concern in his eyes.

"It's fine. But, when you're jetting off to who-knows-where, I'm left back here, waiting for you."

"It bothers you when I go away with my family?"

I hesitate before telling him, "I get a little jealous...the thought of you and her in all these exotic places."

The color drains from his face. He closes his eyes and lets out a huge sigh. "Mirella," he starts. "We discussed this a long time ago. There is no room for jealousy in this arrangement." His tone is condescending-I feel like a child being scolded.

I'm just human, for f.u.c.k's sake.

"If you can't-"

"I'm fine, really." I realize I'm threading a line here. "No, really, I'm fine, Weston," I lie. "I just miss you, that's all."

"I miss you too. Very much."

It's Sunday morning, and Gabe has gone out to train at his club. He usually trains and spars with his buddies, Jason and Rob. He also hangs out with Stephen, an old friend from high school. But mostly, he likes to spend time with the girls and me.

I've made a late breakfast-pancakes, eggs, and cut-up strawberries.

I'm still on a high.

As soon as I get the chance, I call Gwen and tell her all about the dress. She asks me to describe it, but I can't really do it justice. How do you describe something so beautiful?

Gwen shows up at my doorstep an hour later.

She storms into the house, not even taking off her wedges. "Let me see it."

I laugh. "Come to my room."

We run up the stairs like giddy school girls.

I slowly drag the dress out from the back of my closet. I've hidden it from Gabe. When I came home, after my date, he wasn't home yet. This bothered me somewhat. I came home relatively late-Caroline had fallen asleep on the sofa. I wondered what he and Bridget were up to. Anyway, I don't want him to know Weston has given me such a wonderful gift. Gabe will never notice it in my closet-he's not very observant when it comes to my clothes. If I ever choose to wear it again, I can simply tell him I bought it myself-a little white lie.

I hand the dress to Gwen.

Her jaw drops.

She eyes the label, and her eyes practically pop out of her head.

"Holy h.e.l.l, Mirella," she almost yells. And I kind of want to scold her for cursing in my house, but I let it go.

"What?"

"This is a Jeanne Lanvin dress."

"Is that good?" I ask. I don't know nearly as much about fashion as Gwen does. I don't really care about labels-I just like pretty things.

"You can't even buy a dress like this," she explains, her eyes still wide as saucers. "This is the kind of dress they hang in museums. This dress is worth like ten, twenty grand...or probably even more."

My heart drops.

It really isn't a big deal, Mirella.

He might as well have bought me a car.

"Who knows exactly...I'm not sure," she says. "I'm no expert," she adds as she trails her fingers along the embroidery. "Do you know how old it is?"

"The lady at the shop said nineteen thirties."

"Wow..." she says, looking over at me.

Her gaze softens, and there's a hint of concern in her eyes. "Mirella...I don't know..." she trails off.

"What?" I ask, eager to know what's bothering her all of a sudden.

"You should probably be careful with him."

"Why?" I ask. "What do you mean?"

"I think he might be in love."

I've been thinking about Gwen's words. I really don't think Weston's in love with me. He's just fond of grand gestures-everything has to be grandiose with him. And since he's filthy rich, a ridiculously expensive gift might not represent as much to him as it might for the rest of us lowly middle-cla.s.s civilians.

I tell myself I'm not going to dwell on it. And I act like everything is just as it was before.

Weston and I are scheduled to go out next Sat.u.r.day, the day after his birthday. He never mentioned his birthday was coming, but I know since I've done more than my share of cyber-stalking.

I really want to get him something. But what do you get for the man who has everything? He gives me a priceless dress, and what do I get him...a lame tie? I've been racking my brain about it for weeks.

And I know I'm breaking the rules-giving him a gift.

But he did.

Therefore, so can I.

I decide to contact Kathryn.

Dear Kathryn, I am looking to get a little something for Weston's birthday.

Could you please ask him for any advice?

Cheers, Mirella I pace all day, impatiently awaiting her reply. I wonder if Weston could even give me an idea. He seems like the kind of person who is very particular.

Finally, toward the end of the day, I'm surprised to receive an e-mail, not from Kathryn, but from Weston himself.

Dear Mirella, I was amused to receive your message from Kathryn. How did you even know it was my birthday? It appears someone has been doing a little spying.

There is only one thing I would like-a photo of you. Framed or unframed.

Looking forward to seeing you, Regards, Weston P.S. Clarification: Although I would most likely immensely enjoy a boudoir photo of you, what I would really like is a simple photo of your beautiful face. And I want to see that smile.

My breath catches as I read the message over and over again-your beautiful face. His words are so sweet and his needs are so simple-all he wants is me.

I'm almost tempted to reply with something flirty, but I know that's against the rules. He might be breaking the rules, but I'm desperately trying to stick to them. So I do not reply and content myself with the knowledge that I will see him shortly.

I print the e-mail, fold it into a little square, and hide it in my jewelry box.

I dive into the photo alb.u.ms and look for a nice photo of myself.

I feverishly dig through all the alb.u.ms and the photo collection on my laptop.

But there are none.

The only nice ones are from my wedding day, taken by our wonderful wedding photographer, and I'm sure this is not what Weston had in mind.

I can't believe I do not have one single nice photo of myself.

Gabe and I take a lot of photos. We actually have a nice camera-a high-end Canon digital camera with a few lenses. But we reserve the use of it mostly for trips and photos of the girls. We barely ever take photos of ourselves. And I really don't think Weston wants a photo of me cradling Claire or Chloe in my arms or smiling cheek-to-cheek with Gabe or standing in front of the Statue of Liberty with a backpack, wearing ugly sneakers.

I sit on the plush carpet in my bedroom, shoulders hunched, surrounded by a mess of photo alb.u.ms and my laptop. I feel completely defeated.

I lie down in the middle of it all, and I think of Weston-the way he looks when he smiles at me, his funny quirks, what he likes.

And an idea hits me.

Then another...

And yet another one...and that last one brings a mischievous smile to my lips.

Quite a sight I must be when Chloe walks in.

She looks at me like I've gone off the deep end. "What's so funny, Mommy? Why are you smiling? What are you doing?"

"Looking at pictures."

"Can I see?"

Chloe, Claire, and I spend over two hours looking at photos, and I forget to make dinner. When Gabe gets home, he's mildly annoyed, and we order a pizza.

It's no roast beef, but it's still pretty d.a.m.n good.

To date, Weston has planned all our dates, and I don't mind it that way-he knows the city better than I do, and he's the one footing the bill. I also get the impression he likes to be in charge. As he's told me more than once, he doesn't like the unexpected-he likes to know what's coming. I'm sure the idea of a date he knows nothing about would not sit well with him.

But just this once...I type a message to Kathryn.

Dear Kathryn, How are you?

I'm not sure if you and Weston have already planned our evening this next Sat.u.r.day, but I would like to suggest a walk in Lincoln Park at around 5:00 p.m., followed by dinner at Mon Ami Gabi.

Please let Weston know and get back to me with his opinion on the matter.

Cheers, Mirella Kathryn's reply is short and curt.

Dear Mirella, I'm very well. Thank you. Weston is fine with your suggestion and will meet you at Elis Fountain at 5:00 p.m. Edward will pick you up as per usual.

Best, Kathryn I wear a flowery summer dress and sensible pumps. I've always loved this particular dress-the vibrant colors bring out the color in my cheeks. I curl my hair, take more care than usual with my makeup, and finish things off with a cla.s.sic red lipstick. Today, I really want to look good.

I stuff Weston's birthday presents in a large red purse, along with my camera.

I kiss Gabe and the girls before I leave.

"You're going out early tonight," Gabe points out. He's the one in charge of dinner tonight, and I smile at the thought-the girls will most likely be eating boxed pizza.

"We're going for an early walk in Lincoln Park and then dinner. I won't be very late. What about you?"

"We're going to eat in the Theater District. That's all I know."

Chloe looks up from her drawing, pencil in hand. "You're going to see your friends in Chicago again, Mommy?"

"Yes. And Daddy too. Caroline will come over later."

"Yay," she says, cheerful.

I'm amazed at how smoothly this arrangement is running. We had a rough time at the get-go, but now it's simply become our "lifestyle." I convince myself everything's fine. The girls are happy. Gabe and I are happy. I delude myself into thinking we're not hurting anyone. I even convince myself we're not taking a huge risk.

And I convince myself I'm not ashamed. But of course, no one knows...with the exception of Gwen. I'm sure that even if we told our friends and families, they wouldn't believe us. And if they did, their opinion of us would surely change drastically-as far as everyone is concerned, we've always been the sweetest couple there ever was.

I sit on the concrete bench at the fountain and turn my head to study the statues of flocking geese and strange half-cherub, half-mermaid mythological creatures wrestling fish. It's bizarre, but lovely nevertheless. I'm so enthralled by the fountain I don't even notice when Weston walks up to me.

He smiles at me, and I stand up to greet him. He looks handsome in a dark fitted top and slim gray chinos. His hair is perfectly smooth as always, with that one unruly lock of hair sticking up-the sight of it always makes me smile. I can't believe I hadn't noticed it the first time we met.

"You look lovely," he says, and no other words pa.s.s between us. From his expression, I can tell he means it. He's not just being polite-Weston is not one for pretense. I've noticed he only says what he means-and that's another thing I like about him.

I reach into my bag. "I'm sorry. I don't have a nice photo of myself to give you."

"Not even a single one?" he asks, his expression a mix of surprise and disappointment. "I find that hard to believe."

I pull out my camera. "It's true, but I have something even better." I hand him the camera.

"You want me to take photos of you?"

"As many as you would like," I say. "And I'll print the best ones for you and burn you a CD."

"Sounds good. But I don't know too much about photography."