His chest rose as he took a deep breath. “Because it makes you happy.” Then he walked away.
What did that mean?
I spent the rest of the day obsessing over it. Why would Mathieu care about me being happy? Could he feel the same way about me that I felt about him? Shoot, I didn’t even understand how I felt about him.
Only one person could help me sort this out.
I sent Jenna a message asking if she had time to talk to me after Camille left for her dentist appointment at two fifteen. I didn’t dare risk discussing it while she was home. It was enough of a risk that Dane or Eric might hear me.
She messaged me back close to two—eight a.m. her time—saying she could talk for about ten minutes at two thirty.
That would have to do.
“Spill it!” Jenna said as soon I answered the video-call. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her laptop must have been propped up on her pillow, because it was level with her chest and not her waist. “Is this about Dane? Did he finally come to his senses?”
“No. Someone else.”
“Mathew?”
“Not Mathew. Matt–yue.”
She giggled. “Is it a name or a sneeze?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s French,” I said, as if that explained everything.
She nodded. “So you like him?”
“Yes. No.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. He has a piano and he’s been letting me play it. Jen—it’s a Steinway!”
“So he’s started off by giving you expensive gifts. Check.”
I laughed. “He didn’t give it to me. He’s just letting me play it.”
“Same thing. So he likes you.” An excited gleam filled her eyes.
“I don’t know. That’s the confusing part. He shows up outside my apartment building and walks me the six blocks to his place. Then he walks me home after I finish. Both mornings he’s even gotten me breakfast from the pâtisserie across the street—cappuccino and a pastry—but once we’re in his apartment, he walks away and leaves me alone.”
She gave me a reprimanding look. “Have you ever seen yourself when you’re practicing? You have a distinct leave me alone vibe.” I started to say something, but she just laughed. “Don’t even deny it. I’ve seen it a million times. Sounds like he’s smart. So he’s cute, smart, and he gives you things.” A huge grin spread across her face. “He likes you.”
“Don’t get too excited,” I grumbled. “We talk all the way back to my apartment building, but he practically ignores me whenever we’re in a group with my stepsister. And he doesn’t want me to tell her I’m going to his apartment.”
“Oh.” She looked taken aback. “So he’s asking you to lie.”
My stomach began to churn. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, and began to rub a section of her comforter between her thumb and index finger. “So maybe . . .” I could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. She obviously wasn’t ready to give up on Mathieu yet. “You said Camille’s friends haven’t been nice. Maybe he’s testing the waters. He’s seeing if there’s some spark or chemistry between you two before he risks getting into trouble with Camille.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Camille seems to have lifted her Sophie ban. Their friend Thomas was really nice to me when I got freaked out in the catacombs. Then he hung out with me at the museum and park yesterday. He even bought me a crêpe when he found out I hadn’t had one from a street vendor yet.”
“You better be working out,” she teased. “With all these boys buying you pastries, you’re gonna put on five pounds. So tell me about Thomas.”
My face began to burn. “He’s cute.”
“And he’s obviously nice if he bought you a crêpe.”
“And he’s fun.” I told her about posing for the silly photos at Musée Rodin. “And Mathieu joined in, but only after Thomas convinced him.”
“And how did Her Majesty react to that?”
I released an exaggerated sigh. “She hardly noticed. She was too busy holding Dane’s hand and then mimicking the statue of two lovers in a passionate embrace.”
Her eyes flew open, and she screamed, “What?” I heard a mumble off-screen, and then Jenna grimaced and called over the laptop screen, “Sorry, Mom!” She immediately returned her attention back to me. “You’re just now getting to this part? Spill!”
It was time to dash her illusions. “Dane’s a total jerk, Jenna. Like monumental. Even Eric seems fed up with him.”
“What happened? Tell me everything.”
I told her about how Dane had teamed up with my stepsister to torment me.
She shook her head, and her eyes glazed over. “I don’t believe it. I mean . . . I knew he had his moments, but let’s be honest, most teenage guys do.”
“I know.”
“Well, it’s obvious Thomas likes you.”
“You think so?” I kind of hoped so, which was so many ways of wrong. Especially when I preferred Mathieu.
“So, Thomas . . .” she said, her eyes twinkling. “What do you think about him?”
I grinned. “I’m impressed you got the pronunciation right so quickly. Two-ma. They pronounce names so differently here.”
“I only know what you tell me. And besides, if French is like Spanish, I suspect it’s spelled the same way Thomas is.”
That blew my mind. How was I ever going to figure out how to say anything here?
I settled back on the pillows on my bed and put my laptop on my stomach. “I wish you were here.”
“Only three more weeks.”
“As a token of how much I love you, I haven’t started shopping yet.”
“What?”
“I’m waiting to go with you.”
She tilted her head and gave me a sweet smile. “Aw . . . but that still doesn’t distract me from asking about Thomas.”
I laughed and sat up straighter. “He’s really nice. And funny.”
“I think we’ve established that.”
“I like him . . . but . . .”
A sad look filled her eyes. “But you like Mathieu more.”
“I don’t know . . . maybe.”
“Oh, Soph, have you noticed that over the last year you always pick the guys who aren’t available?”
My breath caught in my chest. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said softly, “that you crush on guys who are with another girl or ones who don’t even know you exist. Maybe it’s like that with Mathieu. It’s safer that way. Nothing to risk, which seems to be your M.O.”
Part of me wanted to argue with her, but I couldn’t help wondering if she had a point.
“I can make a list of examples if you’d like. Austin Carmichael had a girlfriend. Trevor Honeywell is a football player only interested in cheerleaders. Even Dane . . .”
I groaned and then laughed. “Stop. I get it.”
“All I’m saying is maybe you should give the guys who do want to get to know you a chance.”
“Okay. I’ll give it some thought.” I grinned. “Now hurry up and get here. Then you can see it all for yourself.”
She released an exaggerated groan. “Speaking of which, I’m babysitting the terror twins again today, which means I’ve gotta go.” She grinned. “The things I do so I can go to Paris . . .”
“Thanks, Jenna.”
“Anytime. That’s what besties are for.”
CHAPTER Sixteen
“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” Camille shouted in English later that night, jumping out of her chair at the dining room table, which surprised me. The English part, not the jumping out of the chair part. She was just as fond of jumping out of chairs as she was of slamming doors. She and Eva had been waging an argument in French, so obviously she wanted to inform the rest of us that her life had been ruined. Which meant it had something to do with me.
Eva gave her daughter a not-so-patient look. “It’s my final decision.”
Camille shot me a sneer. “She probably doesn’t have anything to wear.”
I set down my fork. “I have no idea what you two are talking about, but leave me out of it.”
My father gave me a pained look. “Camille wants to go to a club with her friends tonight.”
Eva started to speak in French, then switched to English. “You know the evenings are family time, Camille.”
“We’ve had almost two weeks of family time. You can’t force us to like each other.”
I snuck a glance to Eric, relieved to see he was just as confused as I was. “Wait,” I said. “What is she talking about?”
Eva grimaced. “Your father and I thought it would be best if all of us spent our evenings and weekends together while you and Eric are here.” She looked up at Dad, who nodded in agreement.
“We want all of us to become a family,” he said.
All the forced family fun over the previous weekend made sense now, and several other pieces fell into place too. Dad had balked at Mom’s insistence that Eric and I should both be able to bring a friend. He’d known it would interfere.
“I will still be here after they leave,” Camille said, pointing across the table at Eric and me. “And I spend all day with them. I just want one night.”
“Let her go,” I said, my back stiff. “I don’t want to go.”
Camille’s eyes widened.
“I don’t want to go either,” Eric said. Narrowing his eyes at Dane, he said, “You two go without us.”
Dad studied us for a moment and then turned to Eva. “Let Camille go out with her friends. I’ll spend the evening with Eric and Sophie.”
Eva’s gaze lowered to her plate and she said something in French. Eric’s head jerked up to look at her, but he didn’t say anything.
We cleared the table, and Camille bolted for her room as Eric and I began to load dishes into the dishwasher.
“What did Eva say?” I asked, handing him a plate after I rinsed it.
“I don’t think things are all rainbows and sunshine with Dad and Eva.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Why?”
“Eva said a French phrase that means unity is strength.”
“Oh.” While the prospect of them fighting—and possibly splitting up—might have overjoyed me a few weeks ago, I couldn’t deny that I really liked Eva.
No one was more surprised by that than I was.
We made plans to go see an American action film that was playing at a movie theater by the Louvre. We left the apartment and walked for a block in silence on our way to the subway station before Dad asked, “How’s it going with Dane here?”
“Oh . . .” Eric hedged, looking down at his feet. “Pretty good. He likes seeing all the architecture.”
“Is it weird knowing he’s so interested in your stepsister?” Eric shot Dad a surprised look and Dad laughed. “Eva and I aren’t blind. It’s obvious they like each other.”
Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “Not as much as if he were dating Sophie.”
“What?” I asked, walking behind them. “Why would that be weird?”
“Because he’s my friend. There’s no way I could think about him . . . dating you without beating the crap out of him.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. I’d never considered the possibility that Eric might care one way or another. But then again, I’d never dated before, so I had nothing to compare it to.
“And how are things going with Camille and her friends?” Dad had asked before, but always in front of Eva and Camille. Polite conversation that required a polite answer. But now it seemed like he really wanted to know.
Eric shot a determined look at me over his shoulder. “Honestly, Dad. Camille hasn’t been very—”
“She’s been amazing,” I interrupted. “An amazing tour guide.”
Dad slowed down to fall in step beside me. “Really? I’ve sensed a hostility between you two.”
“Hostility? Nope.” I forced a grin. “Just a bit of healthy girl competition.”
He looked surprised. “Eva said Camille was having a hard time accepting you here.”
I shook my head. “Nope. We’re not BFFs, but we’re good.”
Eric shot me an exasperated glance.
I know he was surprised at my response, and honestly, part of me was too. But if Eva and Dad weren’t getting along, a feud between Camille and me was only going to make things worse. I could suck it up and deal with it. Besides, Camille had called a truce, even if it was temporary.
“You have to understand how hard it is for Camille. After her father’s death, she—”
I shook my head. “We’re good.” I had no desire to hear my father plead Camille’s case.
Dad looked relieved. “Eva will be glad to hear it. She’s been concerned.” We stopped at a street corner, waiting for the light to change. “Speaking of Eva, what do you guys think of her?”
Eric seemed to be searching for an answer, so I said, “She’s really nice. I like her.”
“You do?” Dad asked.
“Yeah. She’s trying to make us feel at home, and I know she was the one who bought the keyboard.” Maybe Dad couldn’t afford to pay for a piano on his own. It wasn’t a secret that his career path had been chosen for passion, not prosperity, and now he had to make child support payments. It still pissed me off that he would shrug off my need to practice—even more so because he hadn’t once listened to me play on the keyboard. He had no idea how good I’d gotten, but I was too prideful to beg him to listen.
Still, there was no need to go into that now. It was just Eric, Dad, and me—and it almost felt like we were a family again. I wanted to enjoy tonight. Even if it wasn’t real.
“Eric?” Dad asked, sounding hopeful. “Do you like Eva?”
“Yeah. She’s great.”
“I know things happened so fast . . .” He cast a quick glance at me. “And I know I’ve handled things badly. But I hope you can learn to love her like I do.”
Eric and I mumbled our agreement, but it wasn’t difficult for me. Mom seemed happier after the divorce too, so it would be easy to love Eva.
Her daughter was a different story.
It took two trains to get to the movie theater, and I was surprised to see it was right outside the station.
“You haven’t been to the Louvre yet, have you?” Dad asked as we passed a sign pointing toward the entrance. “Be careful when you go. It’s known for pickpockets.”
Little did he know I’d already had a firsthand experience with one of them. Eric shot me a glance, hinting this was the perfect opportunity for me to tell Dad about that encounter.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” I said as we walked up to the ticket counter.
I had to admit that I was getting a better attitude about being in Paris. I’d actually begun to have fun. And not that I’d ever admit it to Dad, but I found some of the architecture amazing. I’d reached a point where I was curious about how things were different here. Turned out movies were a perfect example. Popcorn was salty or sweet and already scooped into small boxes that were sitting on a shelf. Soft drinks—like most soft drinks in Paris—were served in small bottles and not very cold.
The seats were similar to the ones at home, and while Dad had assured us we’d be able to understand the movie, I was relieved when the actors spoke English words as French subtitles flashed across the bottom.
We stayed through the credits, waiting to see if there was a bonus scene tacked on at the end. Our wait paid off—there was a snippet teasing the next movie in the franchise. We stood to leave, and Dad said, “I’ve really missed hanging out with you guys.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have moved to Paris,” I said without thinking. My heart ached so much from missing him it was hard to breathe. I knew I’d caught him off guard—especially since I’d been so agreeable earlier. But all of this real family togetherness was a sharp reminder of what he’d thrown away.
Me. Eric. Us.
“Sophie!” Eric spat out.
“It’s okay,” Dad said softly. “How about we get some ice cream? I think it’s time we talked about it.”
We found an ice cream shop down the block, then took our cones outside and sat on a low concrete wall overlooking the street.
I took a bite of my raspberry sorbet, surprised by how much I liked it. Especially since my stomach felt so unsettled.
“This is better than at home,” Eric said between licks.
Dad gave me a soft smile. “I swear Paris has the best ice cream in the world. From now on everything else will be a poor imitation.”
For once I had to agree with him.
We ate in silence for several minutes. I was ready for Dad to tell us what happened, but part of me was scared. Even though both of our parents had said his decision to leave home had nothing to do with us kids, part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I could have stopped it from happening.
“I want to tell you more about why I left,” he said, keeping his gaze on the street.
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Eric mumbled around his coffee ice cream.
“I do . . . I did . . . Your mother and I thought perhaps it would be better if we kept you away from all of it, but now I think that was a mistake.”
“So you wouldn’t look like a deadbeat dad?” Eric said, breaking his usual distance from the situation. “I’m not sure how you could spin abandoning your family to make it look good.”
“We both had our reasons.”
“You mean you had your reasons,” I blurted. “Mom was forced to go along with it.”
Dad’s mouth dropped open as he turned to look at me. “Is that what she told you?”
His reaction caught me off guard. “No. She refuses to say anything about it at all.”
He sighed. “We agreed to keep it to ourselves. I’m breaking that agreement now.” He sounded solemn and sad.
I suddenly felt a strange sense of guilt for making him spill, but my brother and I were owed an explanation.
He hesitated, then said, “The fact is that I should have left years ago.”
I gasped, and tears stung my eyes. “How can you say that?” It was akin to saying he regretted the last few years—all our talks on the porch and ice cream runs, everything we’d done together. Was I that disposable?
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