I am in a relationship with a guy I am head over heels with. I love him so much, and we have an ideal relationship. We both feel as if we’ve known each other for centuries. It’s bizarre. It feels like we’ve already been together for years when in reality it’s been under 8 months. I’m so happy with him.

The guilt I carry is my romanticism of secrets. I love to have secrets about myself. My home life and my work life are complete different universes. I am a server in the restaurant of a world renowned hotel in America. There I smoke cigarettes. My boyfriend doesn’t know. I want to quit for myself and for him, but it’s so hard. I love to smoke. It makes me feel like a bad b****. Especially when I work with so many french people who smoke. It’s easy.

Additionally, there is one particular frenchman who has taken a deep liking to me. And I want him. I flirt back, play his game. He knows I have a boyfriend, he still says things about sleeping in my bed with me, and eating me. He makes me feel s***. He kisses my cheeks and forehead. He calls me his wife and nuzzles my neck. The fact that I let him kills me, but excites me all at once.

I’ll never act on it. I love my boyfriend too much. Besides, this guy goes back to France in less than a year. And I know I could never have with him what I have with my boyfriend.