Page 93 of Damaged Mogul
“Right before dumping my ass to run to his wife who was about to give birth to their first child, Jean-Philippe felt it necessary to mansplain how things worked in France. A littlevagabondagewhile you’re married is normal. The French aren’t as uptight as us overly puritan Americans when it comes to affairs. And it’s an equal opportunity thing. Both men and women havepetites aventures, aka booty on the side. It’s the best way to ensure a long-lasting marriage.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“Not according to Jean-Philippe. Affairs prevent you from getting bored of your spouse and the day-to-day drudgery of married life.”
“Why not be upfront about it from day one?”
“He assumed I knew how things ‘worked’ in France,” I say with air quotes.
“Un-fucking-believable.”
“As the door slammed behind him, I realized when he told me I was his only girlfriend, he meant I was his only side piece.”
Gage shakes his head.
“Embarrassed, I called my best friend Nadine because I needed a shoulder to cry on. She came to the rescue in record time with booze and loads of desserts. As I was crying my eyes out, she consoled me by reminding me, although there are jerks and assholes in every country who cheat on their wives or partners, Frenchmen who stray are more prone to telling their mistress about their wife—and vice versa—when the situation calls for it. In her opinion, Jean-Philippe expected me to be okay with it.”
“Were you?”
“Hell, no,” I say. “Nadine also warned me Jean-Philippe would be the type to call me to pick up where we left off.”
Gage’s eyes bulge out of his skull.
“I thought she was lying. That’s the only reason why I didn’t block his number.”
“He contacted you?”
“To my utter disbelief, he texted me to share photos of him holding his bundle of joy. He also wanted to know when we could pick up where we left off since his wife couldn’t have sex for at least six weeks.”
Gage’sjaw drops.
“I was outraged and enraged. Not only for myself, but also for his wife.”
“I hate drama.”
“Trust me, it’s not my MO.”
“You were an unwilling participant.”
“I was unknowingly the other woman. Same as Mom?—”
“No shit.”
“Yup.” I nod. “She was also nineteen when my father seduced her. Granted, he was more than twice her age. Since I was born a bastard child, I promised myself I would never look at a married man. Worse, sleep with one. But there I was, about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Jean-Philippe is a fucking cheater.”
“Given how I came into this world, that’s one aspect of France’s culture that would never sit well with me.”
“Here in the US, cheaters are crucified. The higher your status, the more the public cries out for your balls.”
“France tends to turn a blind eye to cheaters. My best friend being the exception to the rule.”
“What do you mean?”
“My best friend’s mom knew the older man who was overtly flirting with her was married. The whole world knew. She was so much younger than him and a subordinate, so it was easy for him to abuse his power. That’s how she ended up as France’s Monica Lewinsky?—”
“Your best friend is Nadine Whelan?”
