Oh, yes. She’d taken seven years of French in high school and college—committing to memory things like comment allez-vous and où sont les toilettes?—just waiting for the day when she’d be out on her own, able to travel the world. Right before she’d graduated from NYU, it all seemed to be coming true. The world, her oyster. She’d gotten that coveted invitation to the masquerade ball, from a dashing Frenchman. And then . . .

Major wrench—career, Evan, kids—all those early plans gone. Long years had passed. Now there was barely anything left of that idealistic girl.

“But you have to understand . . . I was only nervous at first,” Macey continued. “By the time I stepped off the plane, I was fine. People love to help tourists. Everyone was so nice. You make a lot of friends with other solo travelers. I got lost a few times, sure. But I had a total blast and made it back in one piece.”

That was what her youngest daughter, Beatrice, had said when, a year ago, she up and went to Japan after graduating with her master’s degree. Don’t worry. Everyone here is so nice! She’d assured Diana of that without the least bit of trepidation at all. Diana had felt enough for the two of them . . . or maybe that was a tiny splash of envy?

Which reminded her. She had to call Bea.

Diana stared at Macey until she realized her mouth was hanging open. The entire room seemed to have darkened under shadow, becoming more depressing, the walls closing in. As she scanned the faces of the people around the massive boardroom table, she suddenly remembered her purpose.

“Oh. Nice,” she said, trying not to leak any of the jealousy that was currently bubbling inside her. “Glad to have you back, Macey. Now, let’s start with number one on the agenda. The name for the new mascara.”

She glared at Phil, who smirked, “I thought the ones we came up with showed promise.”

“Phil. Honestly? They’re terrible.”

“You have any better ideas?”

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him the handful of ideas she’d come up with during her ten-second brainstorming session earlier.

But suddenly, an image popped into her head of her at outdoor café enjoying a French pastry while romantic music swelled and the Eiffel Tower rose up in the background.

And she realized she couldn’t remember a single one of her names for the new mascara.

The thought of that vacation—that travel—had stirred something in her.

She knew just what to do to talk herself down from the ledge.

CHAPTER TWO

The sun might’ve stayed up late during the last weeks of June, but that didn’t matter. By the time Diana escaped the office, it was already pitch black save for the plentiful city streetlights. Traffic was lighter, not that it was ever really light in New York.

“Bea?” she called into her hands-free device as she pulled away from House of Phun with her carton of Pad Thai. “I hope it’s not too late for me to be calling you?”