I am the woman I've always hoped to be. An engineer and professor at Harvard, an innovator, a wife, a mother. So why do I continuously allow thoughts of Winston Fowler to threaten this life I've built?

As soon as Greg, Curie, and I walk into Dean Korman's home, I find Win across the room. He's standing at the bar, a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks in his hands. Just like we drank to congratulate our new positions last month, when he brushed my hand and lingered a bit too long. The Dean throws these parties each year for the science professors. They are meant to be a thank you gesture from Dean Korman, but this year, it is also meant to be a going away party for me and my colleagues, Alexander, Gunther, and Win now that we're moving onto positions with the Department of Defense.

"Phoebe," Dean Korman greets me at the door. "Great to see you." It has been five hours since I last saw him outside my office to get my guest count, but I return the expression anyway. It still doesn't hurt to kiss up, even if I am leaving. "Greg, good to see you too," the Dean continues.

"Nice to see you too," Greg says, extending his hand to him. Greg smiles like he always has. A slight smirk off to the side, and gleaming white teeth peeking out from behind his pale lips. Of all the things that have changed between us over the past two decades, Greg's smile isn't one of them. It's only when I see it that I remember why we first began dating, but lately, I haven't seen his smile as much.

"And my, Curie, you are growing older so quickly. How old are you now?"

Curie's arm is tucked behind her back, and she pulls at the ends of her blonde hair. Her go-to nervous reaction, but I taught her better than to show her nerves in front of powerful people, especially men. I reach behind her back, and move her arm to her side. Stand tall, I always tell her. Don't let people see your weaknesses.

"15," she tells him in a voice more meek than I would like her to use. I watch her gaze drift uncomfortably from Dean Korman back to Win at the bar. He waves coolly, a pursed smile across his face, and Curie excuses herself from the conversation to hurry across the room for a hug.

I laugh, but only half sincerely, as I apologize to the Dean. "She loves Win. They have a weird connection," I explain. "Probably because he's also a child in many ways."

The Dean chuckles. "That could definitely be it. Well, anyway, welcome back to my home, and please enjoy yourself. Get a drink, eat some food—oh, and you can put your coats down in the study."

Then someone comes in behind us, so the Dean pats me on the back and continues on to greet the newcomers. Greg eyes up the bar and waves to Win, and since I'm doing my best to avoid him at the time being, I offer to take our coats into the study.

"Oh, thanks hon," he says blankly, and continues toward the bar. I smile as he walks away in case anyone is watching.

I pretend not to notice that he's had a drink every night this week. I pretend I'm happy in my marriage, and not at all drawn to Winston. I am the woman I've always hoped to be. I must reflect that.

I set our coats on a brown leather couch in the Dean's study beside a table with the framed cover of Time Magazine, featuring the four of us. We stand in a line in front of a cryo chamber we built, all of our hands crossed in front of our white lab coats. Alexander wears his funny circular glasses and a stern look. Gunther's hair is slicked back and reflective in the light, like some sleazy car salesman. My hair falls down the front of my coat, perfectly trimmed and together, and I wear a secretive smile. In the poor lighting, Win's features look darker than they do in reality, but his smile lights up his face. He's the only one who looks truly proud of the work we've done. I catch myself smiling at the cover and the memory, when I hear Gunther behind me.

"I never get tired of looking at that cover," he says.

I press my hands to the sides of my dress and straighten my posture. "Why does that not surprise me?"

He leans past me, holding my shoulder for support, though I doubt he actually needs it. "I love that classic Phoebe Clark wit."

He pulls himself back to stand upright, leaning so close to me that some of his hair gel clings to my cheek, and as I lift my hand to wipe it away, he catches it midair. His hands feel rough and cracked, and I shiver at his touch.

"If you want an affair, you don't have to settle for Winston," he says.

I yank my hand from his grasp and use it to slap him across his smug face. "What right do you have to talk to me like that?" I ask, trying not to raise my voice too loud. I don't want to draw a crowd, especially considering the possible allegations Gunther may have for causing this scene.

Gunther holds his hand to his face and shifts his jaw, as if I really hit him that hard. "Excuse me," he apologizes softly, though there is a slow burning anger beneath his words. "I only thought that we were similar in that when we have a goal in mind, we don't stop until we reach it."

"You're a pig," I say. "I have a family, Gunther."

He lets a small smile creep onto his face. "Just thought I would offer." He turns and saunters out of the room like the smug jerk he is, and the heat imprints from where his hand gripped my arm turn to slime. I hate that I feel this way. I hate that Gunther was the creep, but I am the one left feeling disgusting.

"Winston," I hear Gunther salute as he leaves the room, so I turn my back to the door and collect myself before Win reaches me.

After a moment, I feel his warm, dry palm against my shoulder blade. Against my will, my whole body warms to his touch, and the gesture suddenly feels intimate. I struggle between feeling regret—wondering if I should have worn a less revealing dress to cover my back—and feeling anticipation—counting the seconds Win holds me, and wondering if his hand will linger or slip away. One, two, three, four, five seconds before his eyes meet mine and he's standing in front of me. His skin is clear and dark, like a summer night's sky, and it glows with a satiny warmth in the gold light from Dean Korman's desk.

"What's wrong?" Win asks, furrowing his brows over his black eyes. I try to look away, but I let my focus fall to his lips, full and smooth and a little wet with the whiskey he has just placed beside the framed Time Magazine cover.

I think back to that day, and how Alexander and Gunther left to grab lunch with the female photographers, leaving Win and I alone to shut down the equipment. After we had turned everything off, he opened his arms to me, welcoming me into a hug. "Great work today, Phoebe," he said as I let myself drift into his arms. And then he kissed my head, like an old friend or an older relative. I tilted my head back to look him in the eyes, and he leaned his lips close to mine. I wanted to let him kiss me, but I pulled away.

I'm a married woman. The woman I always hoped to be, and an affair isn't part of my plans. But now—thinking about how soft his lips would feel against mine, how bittersweet whiskey would taste when shared between our lips, how close our bodies would press together—I forget the image of the woman I always hoped to be, and allow myself to fit the image of a woman who is happy.

My eyes drift back to his. "Kiss me, Win," I whisper, and he moves toward me like my words have lifted a dam. His fingers lace into my hair like a wave crashing over the sand, and he plunges his lips into mine. But like diving into water, the shock is only momentary before I am immersed in his kiss. It's voracious, hungry, and consuming. I find myself pressing closer into him, and I allow my fingers to curl into his thick hair.

We come back to the surface to breathe, and with each break, Win whispers impassioned words into me. "You. Are. The most. Amazing woman." And now his lips move down my neck. "I've ever. Been with."

The part of my brain I've been silencing screams over chaos. He's been with many other women. You are just a notch of his bedpost. It is not worth throwing your marriage away to be just another woman Winston Fowler has been with.

I push him away, and wipe the lingering saliva from my mouth and neck. This suddenly feels sneaky, and wrong. Gunther was right about me, but I don't want him to be right. "I can't do this," I say.

Win stares at me in confusion. "What happened? What did I do?"

"Nothing. I just can't... I'm a married woman. We have a family. I can't do this."

He steps back. "You asked me to kiss you."

Just then the door opens and I peer over Win's shoulder to see Greg in the doorway. "Everything alright in here? Winston, we're waiting for you to start the poker game. You still want to play, right?" Greg asks. He's oblivious, and seems not to have noticed his wife has spent the entirety of her time at this party in the study. I wonder if he's happy with me, or if he fantasizes about other people too.

"Yeah, we're good. I'm coming," Win says, still looking at me. "We're just talking about our new job."

"Alright, well, don't take too long, or we'll start without you," Greg says, and laughs a bit to himself. That smile, that handsome smile I first fell in love with. It kills me. He closes the door.

Win is still staring at me. I see him in my peripheral vision, but I look away. If I look at him now, I may see his judgment. I may feel my own judgment. But Win returns his hands to my hair, and steers my face to meet his.

"I'm in love with you Phoebe. I want to be with you, and I think you deserve someone better and smarter than Greg. But if you don't feel the same way, tell me, and I will stop. No more dinners at work, no more late nights alone in the lab, no more joking we're work husband and wife, no more coming over to spend time with you and Greg and Curie. But if you do feel the same way, and I think you might... be with me."

The woman who wants to be happy tells me to say what's on my mind, that I can't stop thinking about Win, but the woman I've always wanted to be answers instead. "I'm married, Win. I can't."

The blush drains from his dark cheeks. "Do you love me?"

It feels as though my entire body tenses to keep the lie from escaping my mouth, but it does anyway. "No."

Win nods his head in understanding, but I can tell he is clenching his jaw. What I don't know is if it's out of anger or sadness. He leaves me alone in the study, and I take a moment to collect myself before returning to the party. Boston Phoebe cannot love Winston Fowler, but maybe things will change once we are in DC. Or maybe I've ruined things between us now.

I adjust my dress, and step into the party, a fake smile plastered to my face. I must appear to be the woman I've always hoped to be, the woman with the secretive smile on the magazine cover.