“It would be better for him. She has more stability than we do, and Françoise has two sisters, in Aix and Marseille. He would see his aunts and uncles and cousins. We don’t have time to get him together with other kids, except at nursery school, or the day care where Françoise takes him. You were brought up by someone other than your parents. It doesn’t seem to have hurt you,” he said practically, but what he didn’t see and had never understood was how marked Lizzie had been by her parents’ death, no matter how wonderful Annie had been to them. It wasn’t the same as growing up with a mom and dad, and it had been a crushing loss for her. And perhaps it was even worse if your parents chose to send you away. How would you explain that to yourself later on?

“We had no choice. My parents died. But Damien might feel really abandoned by the two of you. I suffered terribly from the loss of my parents all through my teens. I think I blamed them for dying, although I loved my aunt a lot and she was terrific and like a mother to me. But she’s not my mother, she’s my aunt.”

“We’ll explain it to him later on.” Jean-Louis smiled at her as he lit a Gitane. “Françoise isn’t ready to give up her career. And she can only do what she’s doing, at this level, for a few more years. It would be a shame for her to stop now. And I can’t. I’m sure he’ll understand,” Jean-Louis said confidently. Liz wasn’t so sure how he’d feel later about parents who hadn’t been willing to make the necessary adjustments for him and thought only of themselves. In some ways she thought they treated him like a toy. She was still grateful for the sacrifices Annie had made, which she was even more aware of now. She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like if she had been raising three children now, of the ages she and her siblings had been when Annie got them at twenty-six. Liz didn’t think herself capable of it, now or at any age, which made her admire Annie even more for all she’d done.

“I couldn’t do it either,” Liz said fairly, “but I wouldn’t have a kid. I don’t want to screw up someone else’s life.”

“We’re not,” Jean-Louis assured her, blind to what they weren’t doing for the boy. And with that Damien walked into the room. The movie had finished, and he was hungry. Jean-Louis put some cheese and pâté on a plate for him, and opened a box of the macaron cookies they had bought that afternoon at Ladurée. And Damien seemed perfectly content with that. He lived on pizza and sandwiches when he was with his mother. His father always had better things to eat. But he didn’t look unhappy or malnourished, and he was easy to be with. He had learned early to adjust to the grown-ups around him and not cause any trouble. If he did, they sent him away. Liz thought it was a hard life for him and not one she would have wanted to give a child, nor the one she had had with her aunt, who had adjusted herself to them and given them a secure, happy childhood. Annie always talked about how lucky she was to have them. Lizzie was more grateful than ever for her now, in the context of her own life, and how hard it was for her to juggle what she had on her own plate. And she was sure it wasn’t easy for Françoise and Jean-Louis either. But Damien was paying the price for it. She never had. She had had a perfect childhood, under the circumstances. And even with that, she was shy of long-term commitments now. She had never told a man she loved him, for fear that if she did, he might die or disappear, and she didn’t think she had ever been in love. She was still asking herself the question about Jean-Louis. She was attached to him, and she enjoyed him, but to her love was something much deeper than this, from which there was no turning back. She had never given up her option to end a relationship or leave. And this was the extent of the commitment she wanted for now. She couldn’t even imagine having a child with him. And surely not at twenty, as Françoise had done. Jean-Louis often said that he’d like to have another one sometime. Liz was not planning to volunteer.

Lizzie played cards with Damien for a little while, and with his new train again, and then Jean-Louis put on another DVD. And eventually the irresistible little boy with the big green eyes and red hair fell asleep on his father’s bed, and Jean-Louis scooped him up and put him on the narrow bed he had set up for him in a tiny room, where he stayed when he was here. They were taking him back to Françoise the next day.

Liz and Jean-Louis spent a quiet evening talking and drinking wine after Damien fell asleep. They talked mostly about fashion, and the editors and photographers they knew, the politics at various magazines, particularly hers, and their careers. They were comfortable and compatible, had the same interests, knew many of the same people, and worked in the same milieu. It was an ideal situation for both of them. And a perfect way to spend New Year’s Day. She cuddled up next to him when they went to bed that night. She didn’t want more than this, and she liked staying with him in the funny little attic apartment in Paris, and the loft in New York. They didn’t make love that night because Lizzie didn’t want Damien to walk in on them, and there was only one bathroom in the apartment, although Jean-Louis assured her he wouldn’t hear anything and never woke up during the night, but she didn’t want to risk it and traumatize him. She felt responsible for him while she was there.

They all woke up at the same time the next morning, and Damien appeared in their bedroom doorway in the same clothes he’d worn the day before. Jean-Louis hadn’t wanted to wake him by trying to take them off, and he hopped onto the bed with them and asked what they were doing that day. Jean-Louis said they were taking him back to his mother after breakfast, because he and Lizzie had to get ready for work the following morning, and they had a lot to prepare.

“My grandma is coming tonight,” Damien said happily. “Maman is going to London tomorrow, to work. She’ll be gone for five days.” He already knew the plan and seemed happy that his grandmother was coming. “We have ice cream every day when my grandma is here,” he explained to Liz, and her heart went out to him. Ice cream didn’t seem like enough to make up for parents who were so seldom there, and so self-involved when they were. She hoped that his grandmother made it up to him as best she could.

Liz made toast with jam for all of them and boiled an egg for Damien, while Jean-Louis made café au lait and gave some to the boy too. He served it in bowls, the way they did in the old cafés. It was delicious, and Damien had a milk mustache from the fragrant brew. Liz drank all of hers.

They were back at Françoise’s Moroccan lair on the rue Jacob by eleven, and Damien was happy to see his mother, although he looked wistful as he said goodbye to his father. Jean-Louis explained that he would be in Paris for two weeks, and he planned to see his son again soon, and Damien looked happy about it. It was obvious that he loved his father.

There was a man at the apartment when they got there, and he looked very young to Lizzie, no more than nineteen. And she recognized him after a few minutes. He was a young British model Vogue had been using a lot recently, and he was very sweet to Damien when they walked in. He talked to him like another kid, and Damien seemed to know him. His name was Matthew Hamish, and Jean-Louis knew him too. He seemed slightly annoyed about it after they left, which surprised Liz. And the comments he made about the young British model almost made her think that he was jealous.

“Are you jealous of him?” she asked as they walked away from Françoise’s building.

“Of course not. Who she sleeps with is none of my business.” He didn’t know that for sure, but Matthew had been lying on the couch bare chested, in jeans with bare feet, and looked like he had just gotten out of the shower when they arrived. “I just think it’s a little foolish to have people come and go in Damien’s life, who aren’t important to her.”

“How do you know he isn’t?” Lizzie asked with interest. He definitely sounded jealous to her. Françoise had been more gracious to Liz than Jean-Louis had been to the young male model. He’d barely spoken to him, and Françoise had thanked her for taking care of Damien and been warmer at their second meeting than the first.

“He’s not her type,” Jean-Louis answered somewhat tersely, and changed the subject. But Liz could see that he was annoyed for a while. He finally relaxed when they went back to his apartment. They both had calls to make for the shoots they were doing the next morning, and Liz was sorry they wouldn’t be working together. Hers was a big jewelry story that she had been setting up for months, and he was shooting the cover for the April issue of French Vogue.

They went downstairs to a nearby bistro for soup and a salad at dinnertime, and when they went back to his place afterward, they made love. His irritation over Françoise and the British model seemed to have dissipated again, and Lizzie realized that he was just being territorial. No one liked to be faced with their ex-lover’s current significant other, no matter how over it was. And she realized that their openness with each other, mostly because of Damien, was very French. But in any case Jean-Louis was in good spirits again when they went to bed that night, and they both fell asleep with their arms around each other. Jean-Louis had set the alarm for five A.M. They both had to be on their sets by six. And as she fell asleep, Liz found herself thinking about Damien. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind. Her heart ached at the life he led. He deserved so much more than he was getting. It almost made her wish that she and Jean-Louis would be together for a long time. And who knew, maybe they would. So far their days in Paris had been perfect.