The moment their eyes would connect, electricity would zap through the air. He’d swerve around the others to be by her side. “Diana,” he’d say breathlessly in that yummy French accent, taking her hand and pressing a chaste kiss onto the top of it, “I have waited thirty years for you. I’ve never forgotten you, mon amour.” Then he’d recite some ridiculously romantic poem from Baudelaire, and she’d melt into a pile of goo at his feet.

And they’d live happily ever after in some remote chateau overlooking a lake and with a view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Of course.

It had been a long time since she’d indulged in fairy tale fantasies like that. But, of course, at Versailles with Stéphane, she wouldn’t be able to help it. The atmosphere would be so perfect. It was, like he had said . . . destiny.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice suddenly said in a deep French accent, stirring her from her reverie.

She looked up at the woman next to her, who was busy trying to stuff a large carry-on under her seat. The woman was probably around Diana’s age, though a bit heavier, but well-put together, wearing heavy makeup and bright red lipstick. Her hair was up in a psychedelic-patterned scarf, and she smelled heavily of Chanel No. 5. The woman pointed a long manicured fingernail at the ground, and Diana followed it to realize that the book had slipped from her lap and was now lying, spine-up, on the ground.

Diana reached down and picked it up. Had the woman knocked it off? She’d been so completely taken away by her fantasy that she hadn’t noticed.

“No problem,” she said with a smile as the woman sat down in her chair and heaved a large sigh. “Returning to France from vacation?”

“An extended one, I suppose,” the woman said. “I was traveling North America for the past three months. I always wanted to see it, so I decided to take a trip by myself since my husband wasn’t interested. I did Hollywood, then Las Vegas, Chicago, Florida, and New York. All the big places.”

Diana smiled brightly. How fortuitous this was that, on the eve of flying out to France, she finds someone who is just returning from her own voyage of self-discovery? See, Diana. People do it, have a great time, and survive with amazing stories of adventure to last the rest of their lives!

“Oh? That’s amazing. So how did you—”

“It was awful,” the woman groaned. “Simply terrible. I cannot wait to be home and wake from this horrific nightmare.”

Diana paused, dumbfounded. “Oh. It was that bad?”

“Worse,” she said with a deep frown, shuddering at the memory. “In fact, the worst. The food was terrible. The hotels were atrocious. The landmarks are dirty and dinky and unimpressive. Vegas was full of dirt! The Grand Canyon is a hole! I was mugged in Chicago. It rained all the time. Everything paled to my imagination. I had been dreaming of this my entire life. And it was nothing like what I expected. I only stayed on my itinerary, hoping everything would get better. It never did. That is why I am cutting my trip short. I had planned to go on to Boston, but no more. I’m done.”