Young, raven-haired, impulsive Lucie, an independent American woman, a feminist even, meets Pierre one snowy night at an upstate NY grad school party. “You must be French,” she declares. (He proves it to her later.) Mesmerized, she can’t wait to cry mush and jump into his arms to be whisked away for adventures in faraway places. Obsessed with all things French since ninth grade, she asks for nothing more than to push back his long black hair, dust off his beret, snuggle up to his ratty black sweater, and settle in for the ride. A couple of years later, living in Paris with a tight-fisted husband and a colicky baby in tow, she’s increasingly on edge and unhappy. Unhappy in the City of Light? What gives?