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Then he would turn up at dawn under my window, proclaiming his love. But our apparent similarities masked a totally different attitude to the most integral part of marriage: sex.
The wedding was unsettling enough with the eyes of all those other women boring into my back at the altar.
Everyone carries on being friends, just as my husband did with the women in that church. I'd had a sheltered middle-class upbringing in London, where my father was a PR consultant and my mother a housewife. My oldest sister (I'm one of five children) was living in Paris.
Two of my friends were setting off on a trip around Europe and, on the spur of the moment, I decided to go with them as far as Paris. Instead her flatmate, Laurent, answered the phone and offered to pick me up.
Laurent was chatting to another male guest, so I wandered next door to see.
Elegant, exquisitely dressed and immaculately groomed, they radiated a mixture of hauteur and sexual confidence.But it was nothing compared with what I was about to experience. Our social life revolved around his wide group of gifted and beautiful friends, most of whom he had known since school, and many of whom he had slept with.We'd been married two years and had our first child, Jack, when we went to a dinner party being held by one of Laurent's former girlfriends, Aurelie.The first time I realised just how differently the French view sex was at my wedding.I married Laurent Lemoine at his parents' beautiful house in Normandy.