But he turned to me and grabbed my free hand, searching my eyes. “I only stayed as long as I did for you, because of you and your brother. It killed me to leave you two.” His voice broke.
Eric’s gaze sought mine—his eyes full of fury. I was glad to know we were together in this.
“Your mother and I hadn’t gotten along for quite some time. The fact is we got married too young and for the wrong reasons.”
Reason was more like it. Eric and I had long ago figured out that Mom had been pregnant with him when they married.
I took a breath. “So you’re saying your entire marriage was a mistake.”
“No, Sophie. We had some really great times. Especially when you and Eric were little. But we never discussed the important things before we got married, like kids or long-term plans. We just figured it would all sort itself out, but it didn’t.” He swallowed, looking away. “I have always wanted to work in Paris. In fact, right after the wedding, I did an internship here at Notre Dame, and I knew this was where I wanted to be. But your mother hates Paris. I figured I could be happy working in the US. There are plenty of old buildings on the east coast. But then your mother wanted more kids, and I was happy with you two. So we compromised. I stayed in the US and she agreed to two kids, but neither of us was happy. She hated that we’d moved around. She’d make friends, only to have to leave them and start over.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you left,” I insisted. “We’d been in Charleston longer than anywhere.”
He sighed, a forlorn look on his face. “Sometimes things happen too late. The damage was already done.”
“Couldn’t you at least have waited until I graduated?”
He hesitated, pushing out a heavy breath. “Your mother and I decided it was time.”
“That’s a crap answer,” Eric finally said, a hard edge in his voice. “We deserve better than that.”
Dad was silent again, then said quietly, “Not all of this is my story to tell. Your mother needs to tell you her part.”
“But you’ve hardly told us anything at all,” Eric countered. “You must have applied for this job months before you left, but we only heard about it the day you left. Literally a few hours before the taxi showed up to get you. You never even gave Mom or us the option to come with you!”
He shook his head, sadness filling his eyes. “I never expected your mother to come.”
Then a thought hit me. In the past, changing jobs had taken him months. “When did you apply?”
“Your mother sent them my résumé in April.”
“Mom sent your résumé?” I asked in shock. “Why would she do that?”
“I’d heard about the position, so I brought her roses and ribs from her favorite barbecue place to try to warm her up to the idea.”
I remembered that night. She’d been pissed, which had seemed uncalled for given the sweet gesture. “She wasn’t very happy.”
“That’s an understatement. She saw right through my ploy.” A wry grin twisted his lips. “It went worse than I could have imagined.”
“If she said no, then why would she send in your résumé?” Eric asked.
“Because she never intended to come.”
I could hear my pulse pounding in my head. Our mother had sent him away.
“Imagine my surprise when I received an email with an invitation to interview.”
I shook my head. “But I don’t remember you going on any trips. How did you interview?”
“Video conference call.”
“And they hired you,” Eric said, then added, “obviously.”
“Yeah.” I had never heard so much defeat and sadness in a single word.
“When did you find out you got the job?” I asked.
“The end of July.”
“But you left in the middle of August.” I jumped to my feet, feeling betrayed all over again. “You waited two weeks to tell us!”
He sat on the wall and looked up at me. “It wasn’t like that, Sophie,” he said quietly. “I was going to turn it down. But when I told your mother, she insisted that I had to be out of the house by the end of August one way or the other.”
“What?” Eric got to his feet too.
“Why?” I demanded.
Dad was silent for several seconds. There were tears in his eyes as his gaze moved back and forth between us. “She wanted a fresh start.”
“But you didn’t have to leave.” I shook my head. “I mean, maybe you had to leave the house, but you didn’t have to leave Charleston. You could have gotten an apartment. I could have come to live with you!”
Fresh pain washed over his face. “It was my dream, Sophie. The job I’d wanted more than anything was right there in front of me.”
“I’m supposed to be one of the two things you want more than anything. Me and Eric.”
“You are, Sophie.”
Realization filled my head, and I struggled to breathe. “But we weren’t enough.”
“It wasn’t like that, Soph. I promise.” His voice rose as he stood, pleading with us to understand. “I was upset and hurt and very angry with your mother. I told her I’d fight for you two, that I’d try to get full custody, but she said she’d use all my travel from when you were younger against me in a custody battle. I lost my marriage, my house, and I was losing you two. I had nothing, so I left.”
“You left us,” Eric said bluntly.
“And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
His answer was nowhere good enough for me. “You didn’t even call! You didn’t call for a whole freaking month!”
“I know.” His voice broke. “It hurt too much to hear your voices.”
Eric clenched his fists at his side. His voice had a rough edge. “That’s a cop-out and you know it.”
We were loud enough that people walking on the sidewalk were openly staring, not that any of us seemed to care.
“I have no excuse. I was wrong.”
“So you kept the fact you were leaving to yourself for two weeks, then told us the day you left the country,” Eric said. “And then you posted bans for your wedding for at least three weeks before you told us you were getting married and wanted us to come visit. You didn’t even take us to your real wedding!”
Dad searched my face, looking for any sign of gloating.
Eric groaned in disgust. “What? Sophie figured it out? Camille told me. How did you find out?”
My gaze met his. “At the wedding dinner. From her cousin.”
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “That’s why you ran out.”
I nodded, fighting back tears. “I loved you, Daddy. I loved you and you left me. You have no idea what this last year has been like. I’m happy you love your new job and your perfect new wife and your perfect new daughter, but it’s obvious there’s no room for Eric and me here.”
My father’s eyes hardened. “That’s not true. We’ve gone out of our way to make you feel welcome. Camille gave up her room and everything in it to move to the room you two share.”
And suddenly I understood why she hated me. Mathieu had been trying to tell me.
“But it’s not home,” Eric countered. “It’s your home, not ours.”
Dad took several breaths, his shoulders tight. “I’m not sure what to do about that,” he finally said. “But I don’t want to send you home early. Please don’t ask.”
“Fine, we’ll stay, but things are changing,” Eric said. “First of all, no more forced family time. It’s obvious Camille hates it. Second, stop making her take us places. If she wants to go with her friends, let her. Sophie and I will be fine on our own. I know the city now, plus I have the map on my phone.”
Dad studied him. “Okay,” he said softly.
“We’re here to see you, not Eva and Camille. We want to spend time with Eva, but we need alone time with you too.”
Our father sighed. “We were trying to bond as a family. You’re here for such a short time. But I’ll make more time for you
. That seems like a fair compromise.”
“Fine,” Eric said, then added, “And Sophie needs a piano.”
“What?” my father and I said in unison.
“Sophie’s good, like really good. She’s so much better than before you left, and she needs to play on a real piano, not the toy keyboard in the hallway.”
My mouth fell open in shock. Eric was not only defending me, but complimenting me as well.
My brother turned to me. “I can hear you play, doofus. I’m not deaf.”
So much for our moment.
While I would love a real piano, the thought of never seeing Mathieu again filled me with panic. And I knew that was a possibility if I no longer needed to use his piano and Camille was no longer our forced tour guide. I told myself it was the Steinway that interested me, not the guy, but I didn’t believe it for a minute.
“We can’t get her another piano. They could never get it up the stairs. That was part of the reason Eva got the keyboard.”
I considered telling them it wasn’t an issue, but I couldn’t betray Mathieu.
“She needs to practice,” Eric insisted.
Dad ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Eva and see what we can do.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I held Eric’s gaze.
My brother nodded briskly. “I’m ready to go.”
My father grabbed us both, pulling us into a hug. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I love you, whether you believe it or not. I’m not perfect, not even close, but I’m trying. Just try to be patient and don’t shut me out completely.”
Eric said, “Okay,” but I refused to answer, although I was questioning my judgment of him. Still, the fact remained that he’d left us. Once this summer was over, I had no idea when I’d see him again. I wasn’t ready to hand the power back to him to hurt me again.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.
CHAPTER Seventeen
THE NEXT MORNING I stopped and knocked at Eric’s partially open bedroom door. He’d had the apartment key last, and I couldn’t get back in if I didn’t have the fob for the electronic lock on the front door. I could have pressed the buzzer outside, but with my luck, Eric wouldn’t hear it and Camille and Dane would leave me out on the street.
But Dane opened the door, wearing a pair of shorts, no shirt, and a big grin, which fell slightly when he saw it was me. “I’m taken.”
I blinked, sure I’d misunderstood. “Well, good for you,” I finally said. “I hope you two are happy together. Lord knows it’s a match made in heaven.”
“Because we’re both so good-looking?”
Oh my God! How had I ever liked this fool? “Yeah. That. Tell Eric I need the key.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re blocking the doorway.”
“No. Why do you need it?”
“That’s none of your business. Now tell Eric I need the key.”
Dane came out of the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re practically scared of your own shadow. I can’t believe you’re leaving the apartment all by yourself. Where are you going every day for hours?”
“I said it’s none of your business.”
I tried to push around him, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me against his chest. “I want to make it my business.”
I gaped at him.
“I know you like me, Sophie,” he said, grinning, “and I might be with Camille now, but you and me can hook up when we get back home.”
Before I could react, an outburst of French broke out behind me. I took advantage of Dane’s surprise to pull loose.
“What are you doing with my boyfriend?” Camille demanded.
I spun around to face her. “Are you kidding me? He was the one manhandling me!” I shook my head in frustration. My truce with Camille had been fragile to begin with, but this was sure to smash it to bits. “As Dane pointed out, you two are perfect for each other. You can have him.”
As I stomped toward the piano, I realized I had another issue. I couldn’t take my music without both of them noticing. Great. Now it would be a wasted morning of practice. Especially since I was letting the Warsaw Concerto sit while I was learning the much more difficult Rachmaninoff Prelude in B Minor Op. 32 No. 10. I’d barely played it all the way through a few times—and quite badly at that. I certainly hadn’t had time to memorize more than a few stanzas here and there.
So now I didn’t have a key and I didn’t have my music, and I was also running late. I opened the front door and started to stomp out when I heard Eric shout, “What is going on out there?”
“Nothing.” I slammed the door shut behind me and suddenly appreciated why it was one of Camille’s favorite activities.
I’d made it down one flight of stairs when I heard Eric’s voice over my head. “Sophie! Where are you going?”
“Out!”
“Wait up and I’ll come with you!”
I stopped and looked up at him. “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I don’t need you to come.” If he found out the truth, Mathieu might cancel our arrangement.
“At least take the key.” He dropped the lanyard through the opening in the spiral staircase, and I was proud of myself for catching it.
“Thanks.” I started back down.
“Soph.” I stopped and looked up at him. “I’m sorry about Dane.”
I nodded and gave him a tight smile. “Thanks for that too.”
Mathieu was waiting outside the front door. He took one look at me and his eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bad morning.” I started to rub my burning right wrist, which still hurt from Dane’s grasp.
Mathieu’s eyes darkened. He grabbed my arm and looked at the red marks. Then he grabbed my left hand and found lighter pink finger marks there. “Who did this?”
His fingers were gentle even if he looked angry, and something fluttered through me, catching my breath in my throat. But if I told him it was Dane, what would he do? Would he confront him? Then Camille would find out about our secret meetings, and I might not be able to practice at his apartment anymore. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, I suspected Dane was about to get an earful from my brother.
“Sophie.” His eyes lifted to mine, and I lost my breath for an entirely new reason. He was probably the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen. His cerulean blue eyes darkened with anger and concern for me, his mouth pinched tight. I felt a sudden urge to pull my hand loose from his hold and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. It occurred to me that my wrists had been firmly held by two different guys in a matter of minutes, but the experiences were so vastly different, I could only marvel at it.
“Who hurt you?”
I blinked, coming out of my stupor. “It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing. This is going to leave a mark.”
“It was a misunderstanding.” I gave a soft tug and he dropped his hold, making me sorry I’d pulled free. I looked around and forced a grin. “No breakfast today?”
He watched me, probably trying to decide if he was going to pursue the issue. Finally, his shoulders relaxed. “No. I thought we could try a different pâtisserie today.”
“Okay.” I started walking down the sidewalk. “Did you go out with Camille last night?” I’d spent the last hour debating whether to ask him. I hated to bring up my stepsister, but I was curious if he went to clubs, if he danced, if . . . Okay, I was curious to know anything I could find out about him.
“Yes.”
Seriously? Was that all he planned on giving me?
He looked down at me, his expression neutral. “Camille said you and Eric were spending time with your father.”
“I’m surprised she volunteered the information.”
He frowned. “Thomas asked.”
Thomas? It was nice to know that a cute guy was interested in me, but despite what Jenna had said, he just didn’t give me any butterflies. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I
playfully grinned up at Mathieu. “You didn’t ask?”
His gaze held mine. “Thomas beat me to it.”
Oh . . . there were the butterflies, a thousand of them flapping around in my stomach, jostling for space.
I broke his gaze and looked straight ahead. “Do you like to go to clubs?”
“It depends on my mood.”
“You felt like going last night?” I snuck a glance up at him.
“Only because I hoped you would be there.”
I forced myself to breathe normally.
“Here it is.” He pointed to a shop across the street from the corner where we usually turned.
We crossed the street and stood at the end of a small line. I tried to peer around the people to look at the counter. “What do you suggest?”
He gave me a blank look.
“Here.” I pointed my thumb inside. “What do you like here?”
Understanding washed over his face, and his cheeks turned a light pink. “I love their croissants.”
I grinned up at him. “Croissants?” I pronounced it the French way, trying to roll the R like he did and leaving off the T and the S.
His face lit up. “Your French is good when you try.”
“Really? I feel ridiculous.”
“You don’t sound ridiculous. Would you like to learn more?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is this some kind of trick?” I teased. “Are you going to teach me how to say I smell like farts or something disgusting like that?”
He burst into laughter. “No,” he said. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I know the names of three French pastries now. At least I won’t starve.”
His smile lit up his eyes. “Then you can learn more useful things, although it is pretty useful to know the names of pastries.”
I sucked in an exaggerated breath and pushed it out. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“J’ai faim.”
I repeated the phrase. “What did I just say?”
“I am hungry.”
“J’ai faim,” I said again, then turned to the woman in front of me in line. “J’ai faim.”
She gave me a strange look, then mumbled something in French and turned her back to me.
One Paris Summer (Blink) Page 13