I WAS PULLING MY FAMOUS lime-cumin chicken out of the oven when Paul came in that night. With the possibility that this might be our last meal together, the least I could do was make it Paul's favorite.

My breath caught as he rushed across the kitchen and hugged me right off my feet again.

Now or never, Lauren, I thought. Time to own up.

"Paul," I said. "We have to talk."

"Wait," he said, taking a glossy folder out of his briefcase and slapping it onto the countertop. "Me first."

On its cover was a photograph of some very pretty rolling hills covered with bright autumn trees. Inside were the floor plans of a variety of rather large houses. It was the sales folder for a luxury housing development somewhere in Connecticut.

What the…? Was he drinking again? I didn't smell any scotch on him.

"What's this?" I said.

Paul spread out five different plans on the kitchen island with the solemnity of a fortune-teller laying out Tarot cards.

"Take your pick, Lauren," he said. "Pick out your dream house. Which one do you love? Personally, I love them all."

"Paul, listen," I said. "Now's not the time to fantasy-shop, okay? We -"

Paul put his finger to my lips.

"I'm not kidding, Lauren," he said. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "You don't understand. It's not a joke, not a fantasy. I stepped in it. You ready for this? Another firm, a hedge fund, wants to steal me away for more money. A lot more money."

"What?" I said, looking at him, then glancing at the folder again.

And then it happened. My eyes caught the heading on one of the pieces of paper in the sales folder.

Astor Court , it said. And underneath it, St. Regis Hotel .

The St. Regis? Wasn't that…? That was where I had tailed Paul and his little blonde! What was this all about?

I pulled out the sheet of paper. Numbers were written on it in a neat feminine script.

"What's this, Paul?" I asked. "This isn't your handwriting, is it?" I expected Paul to suddenly turn nervous, but he glanced down at the paper nonchalantly.

"That's the initial offer from the hedge fund, Brennan Brace. Vicky Swanson, their recruiting VP, made it to me over lunch at Astor Court at the St. Regis, like three, four weeks ago," Paul said, smiling at me.

For a while, all I could do was blink.

Lunch at the St. Regis?

"Vicky Swanson?" I said, vividly remembering the woman I'd seen when I went down to surprise Paul. "What does she look like?"

"Blonde," Paul said. "Late twenties, I guess. Kind of tall."

Oh, God, I thought.

No! It couldn't be.

Another twist to this unending nightmare.

Lunch at the St. Regis!

Paul hadn't cheated!

I gasped, struggling not to throw up.

Just me!

I STOOD THERE in stunned silence.

Paul hadn't ruined everything.

It was me. I had.

Just little old me. I was the one.

Talk about putting a hitch in my dinner plans. I'd been preparing to dredge up our affairs in order to get Paul and me past them.

Except I was the only one who'd had an affair!

I stayed standing, dazed, my face frozen like the screen of a computer in safe mode. Paul laughed as he squeezed my hand.

"It's a bombshell, I know," he said. "I just love you, okay? See, I actually thought Vicky was bullshitting me. 'Hey, would you like to come work at twice your salary?' she said. So what your brilliant husband did, as a lark really, was say that if they tripled it, they had themselves a deal.

"Vicky called me this morning with the good news. It's all approved, pending the paperwork! The only problem is, we have to move. To Greenridge, Connecticut! As if moving out of Yonkers to blue-blood horse country is a problem. They're even going to relocate us. Sell our place and give us a low-interest mortgage on our new one. This is it. Imagine! One person working, a baby, a new house with enough room for a nursery. The American Dream on steroids. This is the break we've been waiting for, Lauren."

My head was spinning like a blender on ice crush. I couldn't believe it. Not only was I the only one to have cheated…

But we'd just hit Lotto?

I sank onto my stool like a boxer after a very bad round.

"I love it, Lauren – I've actually robbed you of the power of speech," Paul said with a laugh.

"Wait," he said, taking a Sam Adams out of the fridge. "Didn't you say you wanted to talk to me about something?"

I might have been on the verge of simultaneous heart and brain failure, but I wasn't stupid.

I'd learn to live with the secret of my affair somehow, I decided. Especially since I'd just found out that I was the only one who had actually had one.

"Oh, right," I managed to mumble. "Do you want rice or stuffing?"

PAUL AND I MADE LOVE that night for the first time since I got pregnant. I'd clicked into deep-cleaning survival mode due to his latest revelations and was folding some laundry, when I spotted a black teddie that I'd tried to seduce Paul with one afternoon before everything crazy started.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was taking off my jeans and slipping into the best of Victoria 's Secret. There wasn't even any cringing mental debate when I saw the sexy version of myself in the bathroom mirror. My breasts were already larger – oh, goody!

From the suddenly stunned look on Paul's face when I came into the bedroom, I gathered he thought so, too. The Wall Street Journal he was reading dropped from his fingers sheet by sheet until he was holding nothing but air.

"Well, well. Looks like you're going to score twice in one day, cowboy," I said as I ripped the top sheet off the bed, sending the financial pages flying. That was pretty much the extent of our foreplay.

I don't know what had gotten into me. Could I blame my hormones? Why not? I was demanding and very specific in bed. At first, Paul looked a little shocked. Not that he didn't comply with every command. Obedient and shocked.

I felt something primal take hold of me, and I let it. Isn't that one of the big points of sex? We tear off our clothes, our inhibitions, the trappings that society demands. Thousands of years of civilization – what's right, what's wrong – are all tossed out the window and we're back to square one. Sex is the truth under all the lies. We are alive, it screams!

Right before the grand culmination, and it was grand, I opened my eyes and stared at Paul's handsome face above me. I looked into the steely blue of his shining eyes and suddenly I knew.

It was official.

We'd won each other back.

"MY GOD, LAUREN," Paul said, pulsing like a lightning bug beside me afterward. "What got into you? And your boobs?"

"I know," I said, punching him playfully on the chest. "Now tell me that joke again about you tripling your salary."

"The real joke of it is that it's not a joke," Paul said as he stared up at the ceiling. "How about that? One day, you're hopelessly stuck in the rat race. And then the next, pow! Your ship has come in. Make that a couple of ships."

Paul rolled over and kissed my stomach.

"Hey, wait. We haven't thought about a name. Any suggestions?" I said.

"Emmeline," Paul said. "A little House of Windsor, I know, but if she looks half as regal as her mom, she's going to need a name that fits. Besides, she has to get a leg up on the competition at Greenridge pre-K."

"My, my," I said. "Sounds like you've been thinking about this. But it could be a boy."

"Hmm," Paul said. "Let's see. Melvin has a certain ring to it, don't you think? I've always been partial to Cornelius. Call him 'Corny' for short."