One Paris Summer (Blink)

by Denise Grover Swank

  Dad looked blindsided. “Uh . . .”

  “You would never let me stay home alone with Dori.”

  He was right. Dad used to insist that Eric and his girlfriend couldn’t be home alone together. Which meant I had been stuck playing chaperone more times than I could count. Not that it had stopped them from going into his room and shutting the door.

  “Do we really want to talk about how well that rule worked, Eric?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed to pinpricks.

  Dad turned to me. “I trust Sophie to make smart choices. I don’t see a problem with it.”

  My mouth parted. Was he saying that because he was trying to earn his way back into my good graces? Or was it time for me to start taking his words at face value?

  “I was going to have Camille take Sophie over there tomorrow, but Madeline messaged me later to say Mathieu would come by to show Sophie the way.”

  “I bet he did,” Eric grumbled.

  That caught Camille’s attention.

  But Eva wasn’t paying attention to either of them. “Madeline said Mathieu volunteered to pick you up around eight thirty. You can stay until lunch or later.”

  “Eva . . . thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me!” Not only was I going to get to be more open about practicing—and for longer!—but I would get to see Mathieu every day. I couldn’t deny that it made me feel like I was glowing inside.

  CHAPTER Twenty

  ERIC WANTED TO walk me to Mathieu’s apartment, a phenomenon that baffled Dane.

  “Dude, she’s been walking around the city for three days all alone,” Dane said, furiously tapping and waving his video game controller, his eyes glued to the TV screen. “Let her go.”

  I moved closer to Eric, my eyes on his. “You have no say in this. Dad said he trusts me.”

  “Dad doesn’t know all the facts.”

  “Eric!” I snarled under my breath, my eye on my stepsister, who was watching us from across the room. I put my hands on my hips. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

  Dane groaned. “Your stupid brother woke me up with his alarm, and I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

  I grabbed my sheet music and stuffed it into my bag.

  Eric followed. “If you’re not back by noon, I’m coming to find you.”

  I leaned into his face and whispered, “What in the world has you so freaked out?”

  His jaw set. “I don’t like that he was so secretive. I don’t care if he dated Camille or not. He’s trying to take advantage of the situation, and it’s much easier to do when no one else knows what’s going on.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s not a secret anymore, so calm down.” I stomped toward the door and he followed.

  “You better be back by noon!” he yelled after me.

  “I’ll be back by one!” I had no idea if I’d be gone that long. For all I knew, Mathieu liked our current schedule of me leaving after a couple of hours.

  He was waiting for me outside the front door. “Since this isn’t a secret anymore, I thought I could meet you here,” he said, giving me a hesitant smile.

  I nodded, suddenly nervous. “Thanks.”

  We had started to walk the now familiar path when he asked, “Did you ask Eva to talk to my mother?”

  I sucked in my breath and came to a halt, horrified he would think that. “No! It was my father’s doing. Well . . . and Eva’s, I guess. My brother told my dad to get me a real piano to play. Dad must have told Eva, and she remembered your mom.”

  He nodded, looking like he believed me, thank God. I didn’t want him to think I was some manipulative stalker.

  “You didn’t tell me your mother works at a conservatory.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I told you she teaches piano.”

  “That’s entirely different than teaching at a conservatory.”

  He shrugged.

  “Does she mind me playing her piano?”

  “No. She likes Eva, so she was happy to do it for her.”

  We started walking again. “Are you okay with this? Everyone knowing that I’m coming over to your house?”

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  “What about Camille?”

  “She can’t refuse our mothers.”

  Of course, I had to remember that while we could be open about me going to his house to practice, we still couldn’t be together. I had to figure out a way to be okay with that. “Have you had breakfast?”

  He beamed at me. “No.”

  “How do you say ‘Are you hungry?’ ”

  An ornery look filled his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  I bumped my arm into his. “In French.”

  “I taught you this yesterday. You’ve already forgotten?”

  “I know how to say I am hungry. I want to know how to ask you.”

  “Est-ce que tu as faim?”

  I repeated the phrase, then laughed. “I really hope I asked you if you were hungry and not if you’d like to buy my goats.”

  He grinned. “Tu is a familiar you. Vous is formal. Faim is hunger.”

  I cocked my head and gave him an ornery look. “You taught me tu. Does that mean we’re past formal status?”

  He was still smiling, but his eyes darkened. “Yes.” His voice was husky.

  I looked away, embarrassed that I’d pushed our boundaries. It was becoming harder and harder not to flirt with him, but there was no point in torturing both of us.

  The line was shorter at the new pâtisserie today. I fumbled through ordering a croissant, a Paris-Brest for Mathieu, and two cappuccinos, then insisted on paying. “You’ve bought breakfast several days in a row. It’s my turn. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

  “How long do you plan to play today?” he asked after we’d left the bakery and taken a bite of our food.

  “I don’t know. At home I just play until I get frustrated or tired. Do you have somewhere to go today?”

  “No, but since it is Friday, my friends are going to a club tonight.” He turned to me, a wary look in his eyes. “Are you going?”

  “Oh . . .” I shrugged. “I’m usually added as an afterthought. You know that Camille would rather not have me there.”

  “But you went to the cinema yesterday.”

  My stomach fluttered. He’d asked if I was there. No, maybe not. Thomas or someone could have volunteered the information. “Camille said Thomas asked if I was coming.”

  “Of course he did.”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I didn’t.

  “Where are you going tonight?” I asked.

  “I never said I was going.” His brow furrowed and he looked utterly unhappy.

  I knew the decent thing to do would be to feel sorry for him, but I couldn’t. After all, we were both suffering from the same frustration.

  If that wasn’t messed up, I wasn’t sure what was.

  When we entered his apartment, I pulled out my Rachmaninoff piece. Mathieu lifted the piano lid for me, and I began to play straightaway. I played the piece slowly, messing up the rhythm and getting frustrated with my fingers.

  “Maybe this will help.” Mathieu put a metronome by the sheet music, and I glanced up at him in surprise.

  “Thank you. It will.”

  “I hated the stupid thing. You’re lucky it’s not smashed to bits.”

  “This is yours?” I was surprised he still had it.

  “Oui. You may keep it. I noticed you didn’t have one on your piano at your father’s.”

  I bit my bottom lip, my heart so full of gratitude it was the only way I knew to contain it. It seemed stupid to be so happy over a metronome—something most piano students hated—but it was more than the object itself. Not only had he been thoughtful enough to realize I needed it, he’d given me the one that belonged to him. Jeez, Mathieu turned me all gushy. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “De rien.”

  I turned the metronome to a super slow speed, then began to
slowly pick through the section I was working on. After a while, the sound of a boy speaking French behind me caught my attention. I turned around to see a boy who looked a year or so younger than me.

  “You must be Etienne,” I said, turning around on the bench. “I’m Sophie.”

  He moved closer, studying me like I was an exotic animal plunked down in his apartment. Then he said something in French. Mathieu replied in a short burst of French before he said, “In English.”

  Etienne grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh really?” I cast an amused glance at Mathieu, then back to Etienne. “What have you heard?”

  Mathieu’s brother seemed to consider his words. “That you are Camille’s new sister.” Then his smile spread. “And that you are pretty.”

  I blushed as Mathieu reprimanded him in French.

  “Are you staying for lunch?” Etienne asked. “I’m starving.”

  “Oh . . .” I had no idea what time it was, but it had to be later than usual since I’d always left before Etienne came home from his swimming practice. “I guess I should be going.”

  “You can eat before you go,” Mathieu said.

  “Yes,” Etienne said, grinning. “Please stay. Eat.”

  “What time is it?”

  “After twelve,” Etienne said. He was clearly up to something, but he didn’t seem malicious about it. It was like he knew Mathieu liked me and was playing matchmaker.

  “Can you call Camille and tell her I’m staying?” I asked. “My brother might come looking for me.”

  Mathieu’s smile fell at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name.

  No, I couldn’t ask him to do that. Practicing here was one thing, but eating lunch was going too far. I stood and gathered my music. “On second thought, never mind. I forgot I have something I need to do.”

  “What is it?” Etienne asked.

  “Just a . . . something.” Brilliant, Sophie.

  “Is it with Thomas?” Etienne asked. “Mathieu is angry with him.”

  I shook my head, feeling a little happier about Mathieu’s anger than I should have. “No, it’s not with Thomas, not that Mathieu has a right to care.” I closed the flap on my bag and gave my attention to Etienne. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Maybe you can stay longer and I can ask you questions about les États Unis.”

  “About what?” I asked in confusion.

  “The States,” Mathieu said, glaring at his younger brother.

  “Maybe next time. Is Monday okay?” I asked as I opened the front door. “You don’t have to walk me back, Mathieu. I can find the way.”

  “I can come—”

  I closed the door behind me, torn over my decision. It might be good to put a little distance between us.

  It was becoming harder and harder to stay away from him.

  CHAPTER Twenty-One

  JUST AS MATHIEU had said, Camille went to a club again that night. Dane and Eric went with her while I happily stayed at home. She had reluctantly invited me, but I didn’t feel like watching Dane and Camille make out all night. And would Thomas expect me to dance with him if he came? I had a feeling it wouldn’t be like the dances at my private school in Charleston, which were so lame most people stood around listening to bad music for forty minutes to an hour before leaving early. And if Thomas did want me to dance with him, what would he expect? It was less complicated to just stay home.

  Dad and Eva had planned a date night because they’d presumed we would all go out. After Camille and the guys left and they realized I was staying home, they suggested changing their plans and staying home with me.

  “Go ahead and go,” I said. “I was planning to stay here and play the piano.”

  Dad frowned. “Have you done anything other than practice the piano today? How long were you are at Camille’s friend’s house?”

  “Several hours, but it wasn’t—”

  “You spend entirely too much time at that piano.”

  “What?”

  “William,” Eva murmured, looking cross.

  Dad ignored her. “I told Eva that it would be a bad idea for you to go over to that boy’s house to practice. I wanted you to enjoy this summer, not sit at a piano the entire time you’re here. You can’t hide behind your keyboard and let life pass you by.”

  “I can’t believe you said that! Do you even know me at all?”

  “I know you better than you think. You’re in Paris, Sophie. You need to go out and see the sights. You can play piano in Charleston.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I didn’t realize I was going to be interrogated for staying at your apartment.”

  “I think you need to be honest about why you sit for hours behind the piano. You’re afraid to step outside of your comfort zone.”

  “Stop,” I said, furious now. “Don’t you dare presume to know anything about me! I’ve changed since you left—a lot—and you’re not even trying to understand me.” I grabbed my bag from the piano bench and slung it over my shoulder, then grabbed the key I shared with Eric from on top of my music. “I’m doing what I love. Isn’t that why you abandoned us? To do what you love?” I shook my head in disgust. “I’m going out. You have fun coming up with new ways to insult me.”

  I stomped to the door and slammed it behind me, ignoring my father’s protests and Eva’s stunned look.

  I had no idea where I was going, only that I wanted out, but it wasn’t a surprise when I found myself headed toward Mathieu’s apartment. I told myself it was out of habit, but I didn’t stop walking. When I reached his building, I stopped outside and wondered what to do next. I considered walking past, but I didn’t want to be alone. So I took a deep breath and pressed the button next to his apartment number. Seconds later, a man’s voice came through the speaker, speaking in garbled French.

  “Uh . . . is Mathieu there?”

  There was silence for several seconds before I heard a voice I recognized. “Sophie?”

  Suddenly tears filled my eyes. I pressed the button, hoping my voice didn’t shake. “Mathieu, I’m sorry to drop by, but I really need to talk to someone.”

  “You can come up.”

  I hadn’t recognized the first man’s voice, which meant his stepfather was probably home. I wasn’t about to go up to his apartment and embarrass myself any more than I already had. Especially since Eva and Mathieu’s mother were friends. “Can you come down?” What was I doing? I was making an utter fool of myself. I pressed the button. “Never mind. I’ll just see you on Monday.”

  “Non!” he practically shouted. “Wait there. Don’t leave. Please.”

  I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Okay.”

  I stood to the side of his door, my face pressed to the wall because now that the dam to my tears had broken loose, I couldn’t seem to make them stop.

  A couple of minutes later, he bolted out the front door of his apartment building. He looked worried, but the worry switched to panic when he saw my tears. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head. “Just my heart.” But that seemed to worry him even more, and I shook my head again and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. “My father. We had a fight.”

  Understanding filled his eyes, and he gave me a slight nod.

  That made me cry even more, because I knew he empathized.

  “Uh . . . would you like to come up?”

  “Are your parents home?”

  “Oui.”

  I shook my head several times. “No. This was stupid. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at all.” I started to walk off, horrified that I’d made such a spectacle of myself, but he grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back.

  “Sophie.” His voice was soft and understanding. “Just wait here, okay? I have to tell my mother I’m leaving.” I hesitated, and he grew more insistent. “Please. I don’t have my phone, and she will be worried.”

  “You’re not going to tell her I’m down here crying, are you?”

  He looked con
fused. “No . . . ?”

  “She’s going to think I’m one of those emotional, drama queen girls. Don’t tell her.”

  “I won’t. Come inside the front door.” He took my hand and pulled me into the lobby between the double doors. “Wait for me here, okay?”

  I nodded, still sniffling. He bolted through the second door and up the stairs, and to my relief, I had myself reasonably together by the time he came back down, a couple of tissues in his hand. He held them out to me, and I turned my back and blew my nose, then stuffed the tissues into my bag.

  “This is becoming a bad habit,” I said with a small grin. “Next time I cry, I promise to be prepared.”

  He looked relieved that I’d made a joke. “Where would you like to go?”

  My amused look faded. “Do you know that is the first time anyone has asked me that question the entire time I’ve been here?”

  A soft smile lit up his eyes. “I’m happy I’m the first. Where do you want to go?”

  “The Eiffel Tower. I can see it out my bedroom window, and Eric and I walked over to it the day we got here, but I’ve never been back.”

  “Then we shall go to the Eiffel Tower.”

  He held the outer door open for me to exit, then fell in step beside me. “You didn’t go out with Camille.”

  “No.” I didn’t want to admit to my lame reason for not going. “What about you?”

  “I was about to leave.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Mathieu, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you—”

  “I was going because I hoped to see you.” Then he slipped his hand in mine, twining our fingers together.

  “Oh.” A flutter of anticipation washed through me, stealing my breath.

  He looked down at me, then squeezed my hand, his warm and strong against mine. I squeezed back.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “My dad just insulted pretty much everything about me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He thinks I spend too much time at the piano, but he doesn’t even know how much time I practice. He doesn’t know why I chose not to go to the club, but he thinks I should be there. The only reason he cares is that he’ll feel guilty if he goes out.”