While the Jardin Du Palais Royal was a tucked away garden in the middle of narrow streets, the Jardin Du Luxembourg was nothing short of grandeur and excess.

It was Neela's favourite park for a variety of reasons: the majestic palace, the multiple fountains, the many paths, the shaded benches, and the main courtyard that even had a lawn for picnickers.

Neela was currently sprawled out on the grass, lying on her back and eating pieces of cheese that were balanced across her chest.

Dante was standing over her looking nervous. He was dressed like he was ready for a run, all Ivy Park and designer glasses, but without the whole 'giving an actual shit about running.'

"You look great!" she said encouragingly.

"How can you tell? You haven't even sat up once since I got here."

She frowned. "It's my back."

He smiled. "Sex injury?"

She shook her head as much as her position would allow. "I had to help Luc bring the new mattress up three flights of stairs."

"New mattress?"

"The old one broke."

He smiled again. "Sex injury?"

She kicked his shin. "I'll leave it to you to get the sex injuries; so when is he coming?"

Dante glanced at his phone. "He was supposed to be here already."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Parisians think it's rude when you're not at least fifteen minutes late." Neela reflected back on the first few dinner parties she'd dared to show up to on time; never again.

"I don't know..." he said, getting more and more fidgety by the second. "Just distract me, okay? Tell me how you plan on telling your parents about Luc, and then tell me how much you think they'll scream."

"I'm actually not worried about that right now," she said.

"Why not?" he said. "You have a major life event to share, and they're...well they're them."

"I ain't telling them shit until I go home to visit in August."

The nearly three-month delay in sharing her big news was not something she'd cleared with Luc, but it was another conversation she was hoping to avoid for as long as possible. On the downside, the delay meant she couldn't announce her engagement on Instagram yet, up-to-and-including one of those photos where Luc would be holding her hand and the photo would be zoomed in on the ring. That part was somewhat tragic.

"He's by the fountain!" Dante shouted, the tone in his voice drenched with seven different layers of thirst. Despite his excitement, he almost immediately transformed into someone who was cool and aloof. "I'll go over to him, so I don't have to explain this whole situation." He gestured to the pieces of cheese on her chest.

"I would shrug but it hurts too much," she said, before smiling and giving him a proud salute. "Go get 'em!"

Dante sauntered down the gravelly path, each breath perfectly measured and meant to keep him calm. He was on his way to meet the man who for the entire time he'd known him, had always been a little bit out of reach. The man who made his heart jump, the man he'd think of whenever he heard a certain song, and the man for whom any and all dating failures could be explained by 'the timing just wasn't right.'

Maxime was that man to Dante, and even though he didn't want to find himself stuck in an unattainable fantasy, his hopes were high that this time things would turn out right.

Before he was close enough to greet Maxime, Dante used his phone as a mirror while he applied some quick lip balm. Once he was done his thousand-watt smile switched on. He beamed that smile directly at Maxime, a tall, broad and tantalizing Frenchman of Nigerian descent.

They kicked things off with the customary French double-kiss. It was nothing to get excited about, given that it was the same gesture made for acquaintances and first-time introductions alike, but it was something for Dante to hold onto.

As they broke from the standardized greeting, Dante's hand lingered on Maxime's arm.

"How have you been?" Maxime said in French.

"Busy," Dante replied, continuing the dialogue in French. "And great. And amazing." He needed to take it down a notch and he knew it. "How about you?"

"Travelling a lot," Maxime said. "For business."

There was something in the way that Maxime said 'business' that deposited the first glimmer of hope in Dante's heart. Maxime wanted him to know that none of his travels had been romantic, and that fact couldn't be ignored. Taking it as a sign, Dante whipped off his designer sunglasses, his come-hither stare now activated. "No wonder I hardly ever hear from you," he said sighing, no longer hurt by the long-delayed replies to the messages he'd sent Maxime. He took an extra moment to soak in the sight of him. "But I'm glad you're here now."

He stepped closer to make things more intimate, but Maxime seemed to get distracted by his Fitbit. "How about three full laps of the park?" he suggested.

Dante swallowed hard, burying the audacity of a long-freaking-distance run. And the fact that Maxime had actually shown up to run and it wasn't some romantic pretense? Audacity times two.

"Sure!" Dante croaked. "Let's do three laps!"

Maxime led the way to the circular perimeter of the park. With confident strides, he joined the other runners at a steady clip as Dante struggled to keep up.

Three laps and a few buckets of sweat later, Dante collapsed on the lawn next to Neela, who was now busy reading Jane Eyre for the umpteenth time. "Hey," she said casually, before looking over at Maxime who was upright, not dripping in sweat, and basically totally composed. "Salut!"

Maxime smiled. "Salut, Neela."

Neela had only met Maxime a couple of times, but she could see why he had a certain hold on Dante.

Maxime turned his attention to Dante. "Are you okay? I thought you said you were a runner."

Dante laughed. "Of course I am! This is just a breathing exercise. For relaxation."

He was convincing no one.

"Are you sure you are okay?" Maxime repeated. "I do not want to leave you with Neela if you might be injured."

Dante sat up like he was suddenly full of energy. Within seconds he was clutching his side in pain. "You're leaving already?" he said grimacing. "We barely had a chance to talk."

Maxime seemed distracted by his vibrating phone. "I mean...we chatted on the run."

"Just let me go home and shower," Dante said, as he struggled to stand up straight. "Then we can meet up for dinner."

The mention of 'dinner' seemed to make Maxime uncomfortable. "I am actually not free for dinner tonight." His expression shifted to a dazzling smile. "How about lunch next weekend?"

"Lunch sounds great!" he said a little too eagerly. "Can't wait!"

Maxime nodded. "I will text you soon to confirm."

With a quick double-kiss goodbye, Maxime blended into the crowd before disappearing completely.

Dante shot Neela a look. "Don't even say it."

"Say what?" she said smiling. "You have plans!" added, her encouragement sounding a bit forced. "That's exciting!"

"I guess so," he said, before collapsing onto the grass.

As Neela watched him catch his breath, she started to wonder if maybe she wasn't the only one chasing a far-fetched fantasy...

***

Later that day, Neela sat stiffly on the couch in her apartment, halfway through a judgy parental Skype call.

Her mom and dad kept jostling for on-screen real estate, her mom eventually emerging victorious.

"Remember Ritu?" Mom said. "She already got a promotion."

Neela did her best to hold back an eye-roll. "Wow...good." No matter how far away Neela was from her parents, there was no escaping the longstanding tradition of being compared to the successes of other people.

"Can you even get promotions at your job?" Mom said, her voice jam-packed with skepticism. "Does that happen when you are only just writing this and that?" She topped off her lack of faith with a disapproving shake of the head. "It doesn't seem like you can from what you told us."

While Neela once again managed to hold back an eye-roll, the heavy sigh simply had to come out. It was a long one and it felt really good. "The more projects I get, the more I can increase my rate. Which could actually end up being like five promotions."

She waited for Mom to be impressed. She was not. "So you will be rich then?"

Neela rubbed her forehead in low-key agony. "Definitely!" she lied.

"How much money is saved in your bank account?" It was incredible how easily her Mom could ask this personal question, as if the answer was somehow her godly right.

As Neela took a peek at the nearest window and wondered if she'd survive the suicidal jump, Dad finally pushed his full head into the frame.

"Can I talk now?" he asked, his Indian accent as pronounced as her mom's.

Neela's relief was palpable. "Sure!"

"I spoke with the travel agent," he said, barely holding back a smile.

Neela's relief dissolved into the ether, replaced with an entire ocean of stress. "A travel agent?" She was too afraid to ask for more details.

"Aren't you curious about what he told us?" Dad said, his face spreading into a grin.

"I guess so..." she mumbled. "What'd he say?"

"He found a good rate for a direct flight," he explained, without really explaining at all.

"A direct flight to where?" she asked, hoping upon hope it was to India or Guam or anywhere but here.

"To visit you!" he exclaimed. "We are all coming to Paris to see you!"

Neela's blood ran cold.

It was a joke. It had to be.

AN INDIAN FAMILY VISIT TO PARIS?!?!