“You will have her back by ten o’clock,” my father said, his voice gruff.
“Dad!” I protested. “The concert doesn’t even start until eight thirty.”
“Then ten thirty.”
I started to protest, but Eva put a hand on my father’s arm. “Eleven seems more reasonable, don’t you think, William?”
Dad scowled once more. “I guess.”
Mathieu looked very serious as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Eva opened the front door and gave us a huge smile. “Have a wonderful night, Sophie. Mathieu, give your mother my love.”
“Merci,” I said. As I walked toward the door, I looked back and saw Camille and Dane on a sofa in the living room, watching TV. Camille eyes widened when she saw me, then turned angry. But it was Dane’s expression that worried me more. He looked . . . interested.
It was a good thing he was leaving on Saturday.
Mathieu was quiet as we descended the stairs. When we hit the lobby, he put his hand on my lower back and ushered me outside. Then he turned to look at me, and a grin spread across his face. “Sophie, you are so beautiful.”
“You are too,” I said, then blushed. “You look very nice in your suit. I’m glad Eva loaned me her dress.”
“I will be the envy of everyone there.”
I smiled, so full of joy I could hardly contain it. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, but he put his hands on my arms. “We have an audience.”
Sure enough, three sets of eyes peered down from my apartment—Dad, Eric, and Dane.
If they bothered Mathieu, he didn’t let on. “We have a car.” He gestured to a black sedan parked at the curb and opened the back door. “Mademoiselle.”
“Mathieu, you didn’t have to pay for a car! We could have taken the Metro.”
He smiled. “Not tonight.”
I slid across the backseat and he climbed in after me. The driver turned around to address Mathieu in French, and I recognized the word belle.
Mathieu’s cheeks turned pink. “Sophie, I’d like to introduce you to my father, Pierre Rousseau.”
“Oh!” I gasped. His father drove a taxi, so it made sense Mathieu would get him to drive. I was excited to meet him. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Rousseau.”
I held my hand out to shake his, but he grabbed it and kissed my knuckles. “Enchanté.”
I blushed and pulled my hand free. Mathieu’s father chuckled as he drove away from the curb.
“French men are notorious flirts,” Mathieu murmured in my ear. “They flirt for the sake of flirting.” He grabbed my hand and stroked the open palm.
My stomach tinkled at the contact. “Is that what you’re doing now?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Mais, non,” he said, turning to look more directly into my eyes. “I’ve wanted to hold your hand ever since I watched you play your Rachmaninoff prelude this afternoon. I wanted to hold the hand that created such beauty.”
I grinned. “Trying to live up to the French reputation?”
His eyes twinkled. “Is it working?”
“Oui.”
We stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and the way he was looking at me brought a new blush to my cheeks.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he murmured softly, looking down at my lips for an instant.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I managed to push out before I looked away. I’d liked him before, but now that he was full-on courting me, I felt myself falling under his spell. I wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or a good one.
We rode in silence the rest of the way to Saint-Chapelle, but we kept glancing at each other, locking gazes for several seconds and smiling. Several times I thought he was going to kiss me, but with his father in the front seat, I was glad he didn’t.
Monsieur Rousseau pulled up to the curb and dropped us off. He opened the window and said something to Mathieu before driving away.
Mathieu could see I was curious about their exchange. “He told me to call him when we are ready for him to pick us up, but to give him a half-hour notice.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling nosy.
He put his hand at the small of my back. “Let’s go find our seats.”
We stood in a line outside the church. Mathieu held my hand, his fingers laced with mine. Though this was hardly the first time we’d been alone together, tonight felt so different, so magical, I was worried I’d break the spell.
Mathieu eyes were filled with wonder whenever he looked at me. “I know I keep telling you this, but you look so beautiful tonight.”
“It’s Eva’s dress.”
“It’s not just the dress.”
I blushed. I definitely wasn’t used to this kind of attention. The scaffolding caught my eye when I glanced at the outside of the chapel. “See that gargoyle? My father is restoring that one.”
Mathieu’s eyes flew open. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. He brought us here last weekend to show us.” I’d been too angry to appreciate the beauty of what he was doing, but standing here with Mathieu, it suddenly registered. “This building is literally hundreds of years old, and my father is giving it new life so people can continue to enjoy its true beauty.”
“It’s not so different from what you do,” he said, studying the stone sculpture. “You take musical pieces hundreds of years old and give them new life. You play them so others can enjoy the work the way the composers intended them to be played and enjoyed.”
I turned slowly to look at him. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” His deep blue eyes were locked onto mine.
“How do you know exactly the right thing to say?”
He grinned, and a boyish gleam filled his eyes. “It’s the gift of the French.”
I laughed in response and he tugged me closer, staring at me like I was the only girl the world. At that moment, I almost felt like I was.
I had worried that Mathieu would be bored by the concert—most of my friends would have been, Jenna included—but he looked enthralled. We went to a nearby restaurant afterward and ordered dessert to share—cheesecake and crème brûlée.
But as magical as this was, I needed this growing thing between us to be firmly anchored to the truth. “Camille was upset I was going out with you tonight.”
He licked the back of his spoon before he asked, “Does this bother you?”
“No, not really. She has Dane, and honestly, I think she’s more upset that he’s leaving. She seems to see you as more of a possession.”
He nodded and took another bite. “Why do I have a feeling there is more?”
“Because you are very perceptive, Monsieur Rousseau.” I sliced my spoon through my dessert. “I accused her of blackmailing you with your secret.”
He watched me, waiting for me to continue.
“She insinuated there’s more to the story.”
He sighed, sounding weary. “Camille is into games.”
I set my spoon on the table. “I need you to tell me the truth, Mathieu. If we can’t tell each other the truth, we have nothing at all.”
He looked down at his plate, and I could tell he was weighing his options.
“I know Camille cheated on you.”
His gaze jerked up to mine.
“Thomas was talking to your friends at the Bastille Day celebration. They were surprised to hear you’ve been hanging out with her this summer. Thomas said it was like she had something on you.” I leaned forward. “Other people see this too, Mathieu.”
He kept his eyes down.
“Thomas said you found Camille with Hugo. That you found them together.”
Mathieu sat back in his chair and looked out the window, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Why didn’t you tell me about how things ended?” I tried hard to keep any accusation out of my voice.
“I was embarrassed.”
“That she cheated on you? That’s not on you, Mathieu. That speaks to her character, not yours.”
“No. Embarra
ssed of how I reacted.”
My chest tightened. What could he have done?
He looked into my eyes. “Hugo and I used to be friends when we were younger, but that changed as soon as he found another group of friends. His grades were always better than mine and he loved to shove it into my face, especially since he knew my stepfather accepted nothing less than perfection. Camille has known him since we were all in primary school. And she also knows we are enemies.”
I had a really bad feeling about where this story was going.
“Yet she always liked him anyway, even though he never paid attention to her. But when he found out we were together, that changed. When I realized Camille and I would never work together, I told her we had to talk. She said she’d be home at five, but I got there earlier. I had a key to her apartment, so I let myself in. I heard noises in her room and went to investigate. That’s when I found them.”
“In bed?”
“Oui. There was no doubt about what they were doing.”
I cringed.
“I think I was more upset that she would betray me by being with him of all people. I was furious. I hauled him out of bed, still naked, and punched him. I told Camille we were no longer friends and left. I’m not proud of how I handled it. I think I broke his nose.”
“She’s holding that over you? You could use it against her too. Besides, I think you were justified.”
“That’s not all I did, Sophie.”
“Oh.”
“You have to understand the depth of my anger toward him. He made my life hell all through colleges—what we call middle school. His family knew mine, so I was forced to endure him. He would tell my stepfather things that weren’t true about me and I would get into trouble.”
“That’s terrible!”
“But now you see that this was the last thing I could take.”
“What did you do?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I changed his grades.”
“Excuse me?”
“I hacked into the school grading system and changed his grades.”
“That’s ingenious.”
A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Until I got caught.”
“Oh no.”
“I was going to be expelled, but my mother convinced the proviseur to give me a punishment instead. I started it this week, which is why I was gone.”
“But Camille knows,” I said, picking at the crème brûlée.
“And Thomas.”
I nodded. Of course he would, though it made sense that he hadn’t told his other friends. Something like that truly could destroy his future. “International banking. I would guess you need a squeaky clean record.”
He nodded, looking grim. “The proviseur says she won’t report me as long as I complete my work.”
“What do you have to do?”
He gave me a wry grin. “Tutor students who struggle while they are on summer break. Some maintenance work around the school. I must complete one hundred hours.”
“And you won’t have to worry about it hurting your career?”
“Except for Camille.”
“What about Hugo? Why doesn’t he tell on you?”
“The proviseur discovered that Hugo had changed some of his own grades. Before me. She agreed to keep it from his father as long as he was quiet about my involvement.”
“But Camille can still tell.” The dessert in my stomach began to churn. “Oh, Mathieu. I hate to think of you risking so much for me.”
His eyes flew open. “No, Sophie. I didn’t just do it for you. I did it for me. Camille will hold this over my head for the rest of my life. I don’t want to live like that. I did a bad thing, so I must pay the price if it comes out. I accept that.”
“But for the rest of your life? Camille has control over your future.”
He shrugged. “There is nothing I can do but wait and hope she doesn’t tell.”
That was so wrong. “I don’t understand. Why did you defend her?”
A faraway look filled his eyes. “She used to be different. Happy. But that was before her father died. My friends and I hope that girl will come back.”
Mathieu had shared his deep dark secret, so it was time to confess mine. Especially after the whole mess with Camille. My back tensed as I clutched my hands on the tabletop to steel my nerves. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Worry filled his eyes. “Okay.”
I looked down. “You guessed that Thomas liked me. Did he know how you felt?”
“No.”
“I really like him as a friend. I told him I had a boyfriend back home because I didn’t want him to think about me that way. Everyone else ignored me, so I was grateful for the company. Plus he’s nice.” I gave him a soft smile. “I can see why he’s your best friend.”
His eyes were guarded.
“I went with Camille and your friends on Bastille Day. Thomas was there, and I told him I didn’t have a boyfriend back home.” Would he get up and walk away from me forever? The temptation to keep quiet was almost overwhelming. It didn’t matter. I had to tell him. “You and I had already broken up, but I didn’t think he would . . .”
“I know he kissed you.” He reached across the table and grabbed my hands in his. “He told me.”
“What?” He already knew?
“He knew you were hung up on someone else. He called me and told me, so I told him about us.”
“You did?” I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut. “Does he hate me?”
“Non, Sophie. He thinks I’m the lucky one who found you first.”
“Do you hate me?”
His eyes lit up. “Non, I could never hate you.”
I pushed out a huge sigh of relief.
“Now, no more talk of Camille or Thomas.” He smiled and leaned forward. “What did you think about the concert?”
I started analyzing the piece, and a huge smile spread across his face. I stopped talking, then asked, “What?”
He shook his head. “You should see your face right now. I love watching you talk about music. You are so . . . full of life.”
I lowered my gaze, feeling self-conscious. “Music . . . I just feel it. It’s like a second language to me—a way to express what’s in my soul better than words ever could.” Had I really just told him that? I started to pull my hands away, but he held them in place.
“Non. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s wonderful. Your love for music is inspiring.”
“What do you have that inspires you?”
His smile softened. “You.”
“Mathieu,” I scolded. “I’m serious.”
“And so am I.”
“Okay . . .” I grinned. “What about before you knew me? What excited you then?”
He let go of my hands and sat up straighter. “I’m not sure I have a real passion like you do, but I love banking and economics. I find it fascinating, especially global macroeconomics. China’s market has increased at such a fast rate that—” He stopped and grinned. “See?”
I squeezed his hand. “So you do have something you love.”
“Global economy?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “Most people would fall asleep after thirty seconds.”
“But you love it. That’s all that matters. My friends don’t understand why I love music so much, not even Jenna.” I shrugged. “But she knows it’s my thing and she accepts it.”
He turned serious. “Is it wrong that I hope you get into my mother’s conservatoire so I don’t lose you?” He paused. “I hope you don’t misunderstand. I want you to get in anyway, but I also don’t want you to go home in a few weeks.”
A warm feeling filled my chest and spread throughout my body. “When I decided to audition, I wasn’t sure I’d accept a position if I made it, but I’m rethinking that. I told my mother, and she wants me to try. She’s excited for me.”
“Will you live with your father or on the campus?”
Dad still hadn’t given me his ble
ssing. In fact, I hadn’t told him anything about my practice or the pieces I was playing, although Eva had asked questions. I got the distinct impression he didn’t want me to come live in Paris, but why? The only explanation I could come up with was that my continued presence would upset his new family. Camille pretty much openly hated me now, and I had been difficult since my arrival. Staying for the summer was one thing; moving in was another.
I frowned. “Living on campus might have to be an option. I don’t think my dad wants me to go to school here, so I doubt he would want me to live with him, even though Eva says I’m welcome.”
He shook his head. “Non. You didn’t see him asking me questions before you came out of the bedroom. He cares about you.” He grimaced. “Your brother might be the issue. He might not be willing to let you out of his sight for that long.”
I chuckled. “This is an entirely new side of him. You saw the way he reacted to my adventure the day you rescued me from the platform at St. Michel. He used to find pretty much everything I did annoying.”
A soft smile lit up his eyes. “I wasn’t looking at your brother that day.”
I blushed again.
He shook his head, grinning. “I couldn’t believe it when I found you at the station that day—the girl from the restaurant. I wanted to stay and talk to you that night, but Camille . . .”
“You were there to meet her, right?”
“Oui.”
It totally made sense, especially since Camille had disappeared by the time I returned to the celebration. “But after you found me in the Metro station, you were so angry with me, not that I blamed you. I was so hateful.”
His mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t mad at you, Sophie. I was mad at Camille. I thought about you constantly after I met you at the restaurant, but I didn’t think I would ever see you again. When I figured out you were le diable, I couldn’t believe it. I knew she was wrong about you.”
“In the park—after you found Camille—Eric was trying to translate what you were saying. He said you were talking too fast, but he was sure you were angry with me.”
“Non. I was angry with Camille for leaving you like that. And then for stealing Dane from you when she knew you liked him, although I wasn’t surprised. Not after Hugo.” His eyes found mine.
I felt my cheeks flushing. “It embarrasses me that you know that about Dane. I can’t believe I ever thought of him that way.”
One Paris Summer (Blink) Page 24