I paid the sitter and was relieved to find that both kids had gone to bed early and were asleep. And that night, it was surprisingly soothing to let Paul massage me, and eventually to let myself be transported by his gentle passion, and a very modest double flip.

I felt closer to Paul after that, he had gotten me through a tough moment, seeing Roger with Helena, and had restored a little of my self-esteem. We went to see the Nutcracker with the children that week. Paul went dressed as Turkish Coffee. He did an exotic dance in the aisle and tried to get me to do it with him. And then we took Sam to see Santa, and Paul sat on Santa's lap after Sam did. He also picked out beautiful gifts for both Charlotte and Sam. In his own way, he did a lot of things right. And being with him reminded me of all the things Peter wasn't. It was as though someone had programmed Paul to do all the things Peter didn't do for me. The gifts, the time he spent with me, his childlike spirit when he played with Charlotte and Sam. The endless tenderness he showed me. He was impossible to resist, harder still not to love. And beneath all the absurdities and inappropriate behavior, he was a very good man. Or should I say, good Klone. Peter had done an extraordinarily fine job when he designed him.

Peter was calling me from California two and three times a day. And he couldn't help asking about Paul. He wanted to know what we were doing, what Paul was saying, what he was charging to him, and if he was driving the Jaguar. I wasn't going to tell him that he was, but in the end I had to, when he had another accident with it on the FDR Drive. It was snowing that afternoon, and the road was icy. And when he told me about it, I was just glad I had forbidden the children to go in the car with him. He had been singing to himself and listening to Peter's CD's, most of which he hated, but he liked the Whitney Houston CD I'd given him, and while he was singing, he sneezed apparently, and drove the car right off the road and onto the snow piled to one side. The car sat poised there for an interminable instant, while Whitney kept singing, and then it slid slowly down the other side and into the shallow water at the edge of the East River. It sat there half-submerged while Paul waited for the AAA for nearly two hours. He said it had been rough on the upholstery and the rugs were soaked when they finally pulled it out. He was afraid it might need a new engine, and hoped that Peter wouldn't mind too much.

I called Peter and told him, and he just groaned, and then whimpered pitifully when I told him what it would cost him to repair it.

“Just don't let him repaint it again,” was all Peter said before he hung up.

“How was he?” Paul asked, looking worried, when I told him what Peter had said about the Jaguar.

“Cranky,” I explained, but I was worried about Paul. After his little dip in the East River, he was catching a terrible cold. “He'll be all right,” I said gently. And then I told him the bad news. “He's coming back tomorrow.”

“So soon? That's two days early.” Paul looked crushed. He'd been planning to spend the rest of the week with me, before Peter got back from California.

“He says he has a board meeting he has to be at.” But I suspected it was more than that, and not just the car either, I had the feeling that he didn't want Paul staying with me anymore. And I could see Paul was upset about it.

We spent a quiet night that night, I wrapped him in blankets for his cold, and served him hot toddies, and every time I kissed him he sneezed, and his nose was red. But as sick as he was about to be, I knew the Jaguar looked much worse. And then, as I climbed into bed with him, he turned to me with an unusually serious air. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind, and he seemed uncharacteristically unhappy.

“What would happen if I stayed here?” he asked, looking worried, and I smiled. Maybe he had hit his head in the Jaguar.

“I seem to recall that you are, or have you forgotten?” I kissed him gently and he set down his glass on the table next to the bed, and then looked at me with concern.

“I mean after Peter gets back. What would happen if we told him I'm staying, and I'm not going back to the shop?” It was the first time he had ever said anything like that.

“Could you do that? Would they let you?” Just looking at the tenderness in his eyes, I was stunned, and a little worried.

“I could try. I can't leave you, Steph. I belong here. I love you … we're happy together. You need me.” I did, more than I had ever planned to, maybe even more than I could admit, but the truth was that I needed Peter too, far more than I loved or needed Paul. I had gotten caught up in the good times we had again, but in the last few days, I had thought a lot about Peter coming home. Peter was the one embedded deep in my heart. Paul was the fun, the life, the spirit, the laughter. But Peter owned a piece of my soul. I had just come to understand that lately. I needed more in my life than a quadruple flip, and a good time. I needed Peter's solidity, his strength, his quieter style to shore me up and feed the parts of me that Roger had starved for so long, possibly forever.

“I don't know what to say,” I said honestly as we lay there. “I love you, Paul.” And then I realized I had to be honest with him. “But maybe not enough. We'd have a lot to overcome. It's not easy being with a Klone. We'd be shunned by society if people ever found out. It could get very rough.” It was true, and we both knew it. I had thought about it a lot. And it wasn't that his offer wasn't tempting. There was no doubt about it, it was. But with Peter, if he'd ever let me, I could have a real life. With Paul, I knew I couldn't.

I'd marry you, Steph,” he said in a gentle whisper, and just hearing those words meant a lot. “He won't.” I sensed as Paul did that Peter had gotten too used to being on his own. Although I knew he loved me, his fear of commitment was in fact more powerful than his love.

“I know,” I said quietly. “But I love him anyway. I'm not even sure that matters to me anymore. I've been there, I've done that. I was married to Roger, and it all went wrong anyway. Marriage isn't a guarantee,” I said wisely, I knew whereof I spoke, better than Paul, “all it is is a promise, an act of faith, a symbol of hope.” That was a lot, I had to admit, but I also knew it wasn't a fair trade. There was always one who loved, and one who walked, sooner or later.

“It's what you want. You'll never get that from him. If he had to make a choice, he'd rather have you marry me. Do you think if he really loved you, he'd put up with me staying here every time he goes away, massaging you, and loving you, and taking you out to parties and dinners, and teaching you the double flip? Or even the quadruple?”

“Maybe not,” I said sadly. “But that doesn't change how I feel about him.”

“You were a fool once with Roger. Don't be a fool twice.” He was begging me and I couldn't bear to look at him.

“It could be too late for that,” I admitted. “I already am a fool about him.”

“We could have a great life, Steph, if you were willing to try it.” But the truth was, I wasn't. Much as I loved him, I couldn't entrust my life to a Klone, not entirely, no matter how alluring he was, or how much fun. There was still a lot he was not. I couldn't spend the rest of my life with a man who played charades and enacted the word fart at a dinner party. “You're missing the opportunity of a lifetime, Steph. You'd be the envy of all your friends.”

“I already am,” I said gently. “You're the best,” and then I sighed, and decided to tell him the truth. “I think I'm going to leave him, Paul,” I said sadly, tears already filling my eyes, and as he saw them, Paul looked shocked. He handed me a Kleenex and blew his nose too. He cried easily, which I knew was only a flaw in one of his wires, but it still touched me.

“When?” he asked.

“Soon. Probably after the holidays.” I had been thinking of it for days but I hadn't wanted to say anything to him. I thought I should tell Peter first. It seemed only fair. But it had implications for Paul too. It meant he wouldn't be coming back to see me anymore. How could he? If I gave up Peter, I would inevitably lose Paul. It was a rough decision to make, and I hadn't entirely made up my mind yet. But I knew I was much too in love with Peter, and far too entranced with Paul. They were both somewhat addictive, particularly in tandem. But the situation was just too insane. I couldn't go on sleeping with both of them. And as much as I loved Peter, I knew it was wrong. I couldn't go on being with him, and then living with Paul every time he left. Even if they had no qualms about it, I did. And I had my children to think of too. It had gotten too crazy this time. I was just too confused.

“Steph, are you sure?”

“Of course not,” I said, as fresh tears rolled down my face. “How can I leave him? He's wonderful, and I love him so much.” More than I could ever say. But what was the point of going on like this? I couldn't face the future watching him come and go, driving myself crazy over what could never be, and then consoling myself with Paul. Even if he didn't understand how wrong it was, I did. After all, although I wouldn't have said it to him quite so bluntly, he was only a Klone. And Peter was only a man. And this whole harebrained scheme had been his idea. It obviously suited him, and took a lot of the pressure off for him. He could be with me while he was in New York, whenever he wanted, and whenever he wanted to get away, there was always Paul. It was the perfect arrangement for him. It would have almost been easier to live with his trips to California, no matter how frequent they were, and be alone with my kids.

“Don't do anything hasty, Steph,” Paul urged me as we both started getting sleepy. “If you give him up, you lose me too.”

“I know.” It was a sobering thought, and I still had more thinking to do about it.

We tried the quadruple that night, after I stopped crying, and it went pretty well, although afterward I wondered if I might have cracked one of my ribs. I didn't want to upset Paul, so I didn't tell him, but as I lay in bed next to him afterward, thinking, he took my left hand and I felt him slip a ring on my finger.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking worried, but he couldn't see the look on my face in the dark. I was hoping it was something he had found in a Cracker Jack box somewhere, but knowing him, that seemed unlikely. I finally couldn't stand the suspense anymore, turned on the light, and looked.

I gasped when I saw it. It was the most exquisite ruby ring I had ever seen, nearly forty carats, in the shape of a heart.

“Paul, you can't do this … I won't let you … this time it really is too much.” And I honestly meant it.

“It's all right, Steph,” he said, smiling. “I charged it to him.” I was sure he had, but even so, it was an incredible gift, and a spectacular ring. But I wondered what the implications of it were, and I looked at him with a question in my eyes. But Paul smiled at me and shook his head. “It's not an engagement ring. It's a Christmas present … to remember me by.” There were tears in his eyes as he said the words, and in mine as I kissed him.

“I love you, Paul,” I said, and meant it. For that moment in time, I didn't give a damn if he was only a Klone. He was the kindest, funniest, sweetest, sexiest man I had ever known. Maybe even more than Peter.

“I love you too, Steph. I want you to take care of yourself while I'm gone. Don't let him drive you crazy … or break your heart. He will if you're not careful.” He already had in a way, but I didn't want to face it.

“He does anyway, drive me crazy, I mean. And so do you.” But the rewards he gave me almost made it worth it, I thought as I looked down at the enormous ruby heart. ‘That's the trouble with all this,” I said, thinking out loud, as he looked at me.

“What? The jewelry?”

“No, the fact that you both drive me crazy. Or maybe I already was. Maybe that's why he picked me. I guess he knew what he was doing in Paris.” But Paul knew, without even saying it to me, that Peter knew a lot of things. He was a smart man. The only thing he didn't know was if he really loved me. If he did, why would he want to share me with a Klone? There was more than just convenience involved, or the desire to show off an invention that was unique. I wondered if he wanted to get rid of me after all, if he wanted me to marry Paul. But whatever his intentions, or his twisted theories, I knew that I loved Peter, and only to a lesser degree, Paul.

And musing over all of it for the hundred millionth time, I put my arms around Paul with the ruby ring still on my finger, and fell asleep, but it was Peter I dreamed about all night as I slept fitfully till morning, not Paul, which told me something.