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incredibly sick . When I finally made my way down for breakfast, Eva took one look at me and asked me what was wrong.
    I didn't pretend that things were ok. "Brad's sleeping with Naomi," I said softly.
    "Nonsense!"
    Eva wouldn't hear of it, and her stoic determination made me feel a bit better. Still, I pretended to be sick for the next few days just to avoid having to face Brad and Naomi.
    Finally, it was time to leave for Paris . As soon as we were in the limo and heading towards Brad's private jet, I thought I'd confront him about Naomi. But when I looked at him, I could only think that our year together would be over in a few weeks. If Brad didn't feel the same way I did, why not just end things on a dignified note? There was no point in making a fool of myself - I might as well just try to enjoy Paris .
    W e stayed in the Presidential Suite at the Hyatt again , and Paris was beautiful and romantic. But I felt dead inside, and I thought nothing could hold any charms for me. When we entered the suite, I decided that although it had once seemed glamorous and extravagant , it now looked like a tacky, over-decorated prison.
    Thankfully, Brad sensed my mood and didn't insist on trying to be romantic or wanting to relive our first steamy times in the suite. Once we'd changed and had a bit to eat, w e wandered the streets of Paris like a normal couple .
    We walked through the narrow streets, and along the banks of the Seine . A few hours there was all it took for the magic of Paris to infuse my senses, and once again I admired the romantic, old-world atmosphere and the beauty of the city.
    "I don't want any fancy meals this time," I told Brad, and he smiled and nodded.
    We had lunch at a tiny café and then visited the Notre Dame to admire its gorgeous architecture and stained glass windows. W e browsed through some shops, though I wasn't in the mood to buy anything, and at night we admired the Eiffel tower lit up like a large, sparkling candle.
    The next day we headed to the Musee d'Orsay, and I admired the collection of Impressionist art that I hadn't gotten a chance to see on the first visit. Specks of paint created gorgeous illusions, and while I admired the paintings, I recalled the feelings of confusion I'd had at the Louvre almost a year ago, when I 'd needed to decide whether or not to go ahead with this "marriage". We strolled hand in hand through the gallery, and I found myself wondering if I'd come back here again, and if so, who I'd be with.
    After the museum closed, we stopped briefly at the hotel to change and then went down to the river. Brad had booked us a romantic dinner cruise along the Seine , and I loved every moment of it. The dinner was simple and elegant, and the river was gorgeous and shimmered with the night lights, the city lit up on either side of us.
    We were meant to leave just before lunch on the third day, and we hadn't decided what to do with the few extra hours.
    "Let's buy something," suggested Brad in the morning , "Something to remember this time by."
    "That's ok," I said, "We don't have to remember this time. I know you want it to be over, and you'll soon be happy and free, you can do whatever you want and whoever you want. Why bother remembering now?"
    Brad looked puzzled, seemed about to say something, and then stopped himself.
    "Are you looking forward to the year being over?" he finally asked , placing his hand over mine , his blue eyes piercing mine .
    I felt sparks travel up my arm, but I looked away, shrugged and refused to answer directly.
    I knew he would be happy to have me out of his life, and even though I hadn't managed to win his heart, I'd have a nifty million dollars of my own to console myself with. "I'll buy my happiness," I thought, "Money can buy just about anything."
    Instead of shopping, we spent the morning wandering through the Tuileries Gardens , making polite conversation and indulging in some people-watching. When we were finally on the plane heading back home, we