Two bottles of champagne and a lot of commiseration later, it was nearly midnight when Neela crept into the apartment.

She had expected to tiptoe into a darkened living room, but Luc was still wide awake, sitting under the bright lights and reading a book.

She stumbled a bit as she approached him, the effects of the champagne wreaking havoc in her bloodstream.

"Hey...." she said smiling. "How did everything go?"

His eyes didn't leave the page.

"Your family enjoyed the macarons," he offered coldly. "And then they retired for the evening." He snapped the book shut. "So I suppose you could say that everything went well."

Neela may have been more than a little tipsy, but even through the fog she could see that Luc was pissed. She leaned over and gave him a hug that was decidedly one-sided.

"Thank you for everything!" she said, trying to kill his coldness with sincerity. She sat down next to him and studied his face. The hug had accomplished exactly nothing. She sighed. "Luc..."

He avoided her stare. "Is everything okay then?"

She nodded. "I think it's a lot better."

He finally made eye contact, sub-zero as it was. "And what was this emergency all about?"

'Broken heart," she replied, completely unaware that he would find this absurd.

"Really?"

"Yes," she confirmed, still oblivious. "I felt so bad."

He frowned. "But none of your friends are in relationships. Unless you mean Tiff and that younger guy?"

"Oh no," she said shaking her head. "She ditched him; he was being too nice...or something."

"Why is that not the least bit surprising?" He rolled his eyes. "Who was it then?"

Neela did her best to let his flippant remark slide. "It was Dante and that guy Maxime," she explained. "Remember him?"

From his expression it was clear that he was no closer to understanding this alleged emergency. "But...that was never even serious. And didn't they stop seeing each other last year?"

She nodded. "They did, but he kind of came back into the picture. Except...not really. I guess Dante was hanging onto the nostalgia and hoping something would happen." She frowned. "Not that the odds of it were really good..."

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the lateness of the hour, but her explanation for Dante's tragic state wasn't coming out the way she wanted it to.

Luc let out a cold, bitter laugh. "This is...ridiculous!" He shook his head. "I mean you seriously left me alone with your family because of Dante's...nostalgia?"

She moved away from him instantaneously. His reaction was extremely disturbing to her, and it also had the effect of sobering her up fast. "It's not that simple."

He scoffed. "Then something is getting lost in translation."

She scowled. Here we go again. "You know what? Stop acting like a different language is the reason why we always fight. I get along plenty well with other people whose languages I barely know."

"Who says we always fight?"

She smirked. And then sighed. "Okay maybe not always, but you've gotta admit it's a lot more often than we used to."

He admitted to nothing, but he at least uncrossed his arms. "I'm just struggling to understand how someone feeling a little bit sad is a reason to leave me with your family."

She took a breath, nodded, and tried her very best to see his side. This balanced—and rare—approach was probably the most reasonable she'd ever been during a disagreement. Perhaps entire bottles of bubbly would need to be required from now on. "I mean yeah, when you focus on the headline of it all, I can see how it's not a great excuse; but can you try to imagine yourself in Dante's position?" She was discouraged by his blank stare but tried anyway. "Are you seriously telling me you've never had that feeling when something you were really hoping for crashed into a million pieces? When it hurt so much that there wasn't enough alcohol to make it better? When your favourite food suddenly started to taste like nothing, because that's how much you didn't feel alive anymore? Are you really saying that you can't relate?"

There was a long pause, and maybe for right now that was the perfect reaction.

He took a measured breath before finally speaking. "Believe I have had heartbreak. And I do understand...to a point. But I also believe in moving forward."

It was a reasonable rebuttal. Until he shrugged.

For Neela it was a shrug that could not go unnoticed, but before she could speak, he added some more fuel to the fire. "He just needs to be a little stronger."

The bait for another argument dangled in front of Neela's face. It would've been so easy to destroy him in this moment.

To her own astonishment, she pushed away her bubbling rage and gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was definitely still one hundred percent wrong, but she was finding herself exhausted at the prospect of another argument.

"Have you ever felt the flip side?" she said switching gears.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the good side," she explained, with the traces of a smile. "Have you ever liked someone so much, that you were constantly wondering where they were and what they were thinking? And have you ever had that feeling expand in your heart and body so ferociously, that every breath you took was like this happy sigh, and all the food you ate was bursting with a million flavours?"

"That might not be the exact description," he said uncomfortably. He noticed her smile dissolve into thin air. "But yes!" he added quickly, "I have felt something like that with you. And what about you? Is it the same for how you feel about me?"

Without really processing the question, all the muscles in her face transformed into an automatic smile. "Yep, it's the same for me too!"

"Good," he said, as if the matter was settled.

Neela wasn't sure if Luc was lying to her or if she was lying to him, or if they were both lying to each other just a little. The only thing she knew for sure was that the edges of harsh realities were harder to ignore after the truth serum known as alcohol. And she didn't like that feeling one bit.

"And listen," he said, taking her hand. "I don't want you to worry that just because the feeling isn't how it was when we first met, that it won't be a promising future. All relationships become a little more...normal after a time."

"Normal?" she said frowning.

"Maybe I am using the wrong word in English," he admitted. "What I mean is...safe...or standard."

Her smile began to waver. "Oh...okay. That makes sense."

It didn't make sense at all. He had just described the state of their relationship as a full-on minivan, with lots of storage room, a sturdy frame, extra cup holders...the works.

She wanted nothing more than to end this conversation immediately, and maybe he could sense it by the look on her face.

Or maybe it was just that time of night.

Whatever it was, he kissed her deeply, and all the problems that had surfaced that night seemed to mercifully fall away...

***

As the champagne-induced fog fully lifted, night turned into day and the next day after that. The more time passed, the harsh realities that were itching to get out were either overblown or buried so deep under society's expectations that it was becoming harder and harder for Neela to notice them at all.

Her conscious radar was too overloaded with the dream scenario coveted by women the world over: a grand engagement party at an actual castle.

In-between the excitement were the usual family squabbles, like Dad's difficulties in adjusting to French culture, and Mom's fixation on Neela's allegedly haggard appearance. Nevertheless, she'd managed to escape it all, with her search for the perfect engagement a much more important priority.

Within the walls of a chic French clothing boutique, Neela now modeled dresses for Chloe, Tiff, and Dante.

Relationship problems? What relationship problems? Today was about a fashion show!

Dante who was usually fashionably dressed was head-to-toe in black, complete with dark sunglasses he'd decided to wear indoors. It was the sort of fashion statement that made it clear he was still very much in mourning for his deadened heart.

"It's a nice colour," Chloe said, as she watched Neela spin around in a mauve dress.

She stopped spinning and looked over at Dante. "Do you like it?"

"Sure," he said, his voice completely dead inside. He eventually lowered his sunglasses for a better look. "I mean yeah, if your back fat is a famous performer, then bravo girl, that dress is center stage."

Tiff elbowed him hard. "We do not use unempowering terms like 'back fat.'"

Neela clutched at the skin attached her back. "No it's fine," she said. "This is exactly the sort of stuff I need to hear." She rummaged through a pile of dresses in the search for something better. "Maybe I should try the flowy ethereal one..."

A phone started to buzz as she weighed this important decision. "I think that's mine," Neela said. "Can someone get it?"

Chloe handed it over.

Neela read the incoming text and laughed. "Oh really?" she said smirking. "Ah...you love to see it."

"What is it?" Tiff questioned.

"My sister is bitching about the lineups at Versailles," she explained.

"You let them go on a Friday?" Tiff shook her head. "Gurlll..."

Neela shrugged. "I told them not to, but she wouldn't listen; she just had to go on a day that had the fountains turned on."

"Of course, of course," Dante said flatly. "What's the point of going if you can't get the perfect photo?" He raised his fist (albeit listlessly). "It's all for the 'gram."

"What a loser," Neela said, as she handed her phone back to Chloe. She picked up the next dress and studied it closely. "So what's the final RSVP list for the party? Are you all flying solo?" She looked over at Dante and immediately realized what she'd said. "Oh; sorry."

"It's fine," he said, his soul as deadened as ever. "Ultimately we are all flying solo in this twisted dance called life."

Neela looked away and cringed. "Okay..." She took the dress and disappeared into the changing room.

"We won't all be solo," Chloe suddenly declared. "I will be bringing Jinhai."

Tiff raised an eyebrow. "Well that's news..."

Dante lowered his sunglasses for only the second time. "When did that get so serious?"

"Tell us more..." Tiff added with a sly smile.

Chloe started to blush. "There is not much to tell. I just..." Her face erupted into an undeniable perma-smile. "Well I think about him all the time, and he tells me he does the same, and with each passing moment my feelings seem to grow." She sighed happily. "It is...surprising."

Neela popped out of the dressing room, half-naked and grinning. "Aww Chloe! That is literally the dream!"

"What is?" Tiff said, her special brand of cynicism creeping onto the scene.

"You know...breaking your personal all-time record for how much you could possibly like someone! And all that other gooey magical shit." Neela sighed. "It's the golden ticket." She was too obsessed with her dress decision to realize that perhaps she was lacking the gooey magical shit in her own relationship.

Chloe's perma-smile remained chiseled on her face. "I agree, it is something like that gooey shit."

"It's nice when you can find it before it's probably too late," Dante cynically offered. His expressionless voice took the air out of the romance balloon. "C'mon Neela; hurry up and show us that back-fat-disappearing dress."

"Okay!" She hopped back into the dressing room excitedly, her conscious attention focused on the dress, and her sub-conscious attention muzzled so tightly that nothing could ruin the biggest party of her life.

The dress, the château, the picture-perfect Frenchman...what could go wrong?