Later that night, in a darkened bedroom in central Paris, silver moonlight cast a glow on Neela in the nude. Luc was there too; sweaty, naked and all too happy for Neela to ride him like a coin-operated bull.

Raw passion resulting from sharing two bottles of champagne? Maybe. But it might have also had something to do with the euphoria of getting engaged.

She said yes.

Indeed, the stage was hornily set for a night of orgasmic delights, but even so, Neela couldn't help herself from getting a bit distracted by the shimmer of the big-ass ring.

Is was a hefty son-of-a-bitch, the kind of ring that freshly-minted fiancées only wished they could flaunt on Instagram. In reality, those average clout-seekers would have no choice but to debase themselves, with the budget trickery of the 'dazzle' filter or the 4x optical zoom. In Neela's case not a single distortion was needed. Not only was her diamond massive, it had mini diamonds surrounding it, because more is more and one-upping your friends is the name of the engagement game.

As Neela's newfound superficial status sunk in, she struggled to peel her eyeballs away from the conflict diamond dazzle, a hypnosis that started to get in the way of her immediate gratification.

"Is something wrong?" Luc asked as her rhythm slowed.

"I'm fine," she insisted, finally remembering the primal task at hand. "I guess I was just...trying to make it last longer."

The look of mischief on his face was instantaneous. "I can help you with that." He flipped her over before setting off on the glorious journey of pumping his way to oblivion.

She said yes!

***

In the final hours before sunrise, Neela lay in bed wide awake. She creepily eyed Luc as he slept, his deep snores making it clear he was a world away.

A moment later the snoring stopped, and he shifted his body like a man on the cusp of waking up. But alas, it was only a fart.

Neela immediately turned away. "Time to lay off the fromage," she whispered cringing.

She reached for the phone on her nightstand, an emergency move to distract herself from the remnants of his late-night gas. She started with Instagram, but when that became boring, she switched gears to the arguably more boring Facebook. The first thing she saw was the last thing she'd typed. It was something she'd searched for much earlier in the evening, from deep in the underground métro:

Antonio hot

She gasped and dropped her phone onto the floor.

She didn't reach down to pick it up.

Instead, she hid under the covers and waited for morning to come.

***

Late the next morning, Neela emerged from the bedroom to the smell of a breakfast in the making.

Like most Parisian apartments, the square footage was scarce, but the 'cozy' was in ample supply.

The living room and kitchen were an open concept affair, or the nicer way of saying there wasn't enough space for two distinct rooms. The funny thing was, this apartment was considered rather grand for Paris, when factoring in both the separate bedroom and the central location. It was so grand in fact, that Neela would've never been able to afford it on her freelance writing salary. This was part of the reason why Luc's offer to move in with him after only six months of dating had seemed so great. Her seemingly cynical approach was actually the Parisian norm, as the city of love was also undoubtedly pricey as hell.

As Neela watched Luc fry up some eggs, she started to realize that before the big moment when he'd asked for her hand, she couldn't remember the last time she'd thought of him as 'the one.' Had she ever?

She frowned at this worrying possibility, but it wasn't her fault that her memory was a little foggy. They'd been fighting a lot more in the last few weeks, not to mention that he worked insane hours and didn't even like the same Netflix shows as she did. Maybe that last part wasn't a big deal, but somewhere along the way, she'd stopped hoping for Luc to become the guy who would be there for all of her days. The guy who would be there to make her morning eggs just the way she liked them.

At least her stomach knew he was the one.

"Why are you smiling?" he said with one eye on the frying pan. "Thinking about last night?" he added teasingly.

"Oh totally!" she lied, peeling her eyes from the promise of eggy goodness. "It was so sexy...and...romantic!" She felt a grumble in her stomach and cringed. "Be right back."

***

About ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open but Neela wouldn't come outside. "Luc?" She poked her head out and smiled. "Can you help me?"

He was immediately turned off and borderline disgusted. "No. I cannot help you with that."

"It's not that!" she said with a laugh. "I mean...not really. Like I've gotten rid of...you know...I mean obviously." She shuddered. "But there's not as much water as there should be, and when I checked the tank, I noticed it was barely half full. It's the same thing that happened two weeks ago; can you show me how you fixed it last time?"

He tried not to look annoyed. "Wait a moment and I will send you the link to the plumbing video on YouTube."

She frowned. "You want me to watch a whole video, when you could just show me what lever or dingy to pull?" Her eyes hardened into a glare. "You want me to have to wait to skip ads?"

The audacity.

He sighed. "All that I want, is to keep away from your personal business in the bathroom, as some things between men and women should remain private."

"Private?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell that to your night farts."

He wasn't fazed. Instead, he picked up his phone and a few taps later, Neela's phone buzzed from the bedroom, fresh with a new notification. "There you go. I have sent it."

She scowled as she stormed into the bedroom to grab her phone. She stormed back out and went straight to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Once inside, she lifted the lid of the toilet tank and cringed.

Before she could grudgingly hit play on the instructional video, her phone lit up with a FaceTime request.

Mom would like to FaceTime

Her eyes filled with panic. An unscheduled parental call? Was someone dead? She knew she had to answer, but before accepting the call she put her ear to the door and listened. Satisfied with the level of silence, she answered the call.

"Hi..." Neela said, realizing within in seconds that everything was okay. And how did she know that everything was fine? Because Mom had her usual resting-Mom face on display. Stern, judgy, and perpetually disappointed.

"Don't you ever clean?" she chided in a thick Indian accent.

"I was actually just fixing—"

Mom spotted the open toilet tank in the background and gasped. "You are fixing a toilet?"

Neela did her best to convert the disdain into pride. "Isn't it good that I'm learning how to do things on my own?"

Mom's frown deepened. "Why are there even these plumbing problems over there anyway?" She shook her head. "I told you France was a third world country."

Neela's sigh made the dramatic sound indigenous to offspring with a lifetime's experience in dealing with unsatisfied parents. "Mom—"

"You should come back to Canada and get married before it's too late," Mom declared.

Neela stole a glance at the ring adorning the hand that was holding the phone. "It won't be too late; trust me."

"Eggs are done in case you care!"

Luc's voice was somewhat muffled from the other side of the door, but still loud enough to hear. Neela did her best to hide the panic in her eyes.

Mom glared. A glare so sharp it almost smashed her screen protector. "Who was that? A boy?"

Neela collected herself with a casual laugh and a shrug. "What boy? It's a cooking show."

She studied Mom's face, watching as the glare slowly dissolved, eventually returning to the usual look of discontent.

"You need a haircut," said Mom.

As the physical assessment continued, Neela simply let it wash over her with a sense of immediate relief. Live for another day...

***

The next day, bathroom tensions with Luc were mostly a distant memory. It was hard to stay mad with a colossal diamond ring on her finger, but more importantly, it was a little extreme to stay mad about having to watch an instructional video that could teach her a brand new skill. Yes, she was privileged.

The day with Luc had gotten better once they'd laid around drinking wine in the Parc de Belleville, a charming spot that offered views of Paris without the crowds. The casual dinner on a café terrace had been pretty fine too, but despite all those high points, she was glad to now enjoy a Sunday morning with some 'me time.'

For Neela, 'me time' in Paris took on many forms, and at the moment her indulgence was strolling the winding side streets of the neighbourhood of old Montmartre. More specifically, she was busy peeking into the windows of the mini galleries that were closed on Sunday. This window creeping was always a curious and interesting affair. These galleries were nothing like the ones that lined the streets of Soho in New York City, but rather they were portals into another era, where half-finished paintings on wooden easels were the norm.

The reason it was always such an interesting expedition was due to the uniqueness of the artists, and how each of them seemed to have their own particular niche. Like the gallery that was stacked with paintings of kittens. And only kittens. Or the gallery that was horrifyingly centered around frightening clowns that had razor-edged teeth. It didn't end with just one set of teeth though, oh no. The creepy clown in the painting she was currently staring at had three circular layers of razor-edged teeth (in case the outer layer wasn't enough to accomplish a murder). She shuddered.

As she continued to stare at this horrifying car crash of visual art, her phone buzzed with a notification. She pulled it out of her pocket and when she saw the message she grinned.

The time had come to leave the murderous clowns behind, and she simply couldn't wait to arrive at her destination.

She turned on her heel and hoofed it up the hilly street. The incline was a little hard on her ass, but she didn't really mind the extra glute work. And why would she? She was now on her way to her own personal version of a sanctuary in Paris. It was the sort of inner sanctum that hadn't been easy to find as a foreigner, since Paris (on the surface) had a tendency to be a little cold to the average outsider. Being an extrovert had helped Neela bridge this gap, the gap between being completely unknown, and striking up conversations with strangers who might eventually turn into more.

It hadn't always worked, but partly due to her efforts and partly due to fate, Neela had found herself a home in Paris where she could feel safe, have fun, get advice, and be herself; the best of herself, the worst of herself, and definitely the bitch-ass snarkiest version of herself.

This home was not a place. It was a circle of international BFFs. And they were about to get the update of a lifetime...