One Paris Summer (Blink)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “And me?”

  I smiled. “You? I liked you the moment I saw you. Lucky for you, I like you even more now.”

  “A little?” he teased.

  I held up my hand and pinched my thumb and index finger. “A wee little bit.”

  He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Then I have work to do.”

  I was looking forward to it.

  Mathieu grabbed the waiter and asked for the addition, then called his father. We left the restaurant and walked to the sidewalk running along the Seine. We were on the Left Bank, in the section where the sixth and seventh arrondissements met. The streets were lined with souvenir shops, but most of them were closed now, their metal garage doors pulled down and locked. And all the carts and vendors that lined the sidewalk during the day were gone.

  This was a different side of Paris, the real Paris behind the tourists and the glitz.

  We stood next to the low stone wall, and Mathieu put his arm around my back. He pulled me against him, my hands against his strong chest, and looked deep into my eyes. Now that all the lies and secrets had been ripped away, only we were left behind.

  And it felt wonderful.

  “You are unlike any girl I’ve ever known,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.

  I grinned. “I bet it’s because you’re not forced to speak English all the time with other girls.”

  He laughed. “True, but that’s not the reason.”

  “It must be because I have a brother who constantly threatens to beat you up.”

  “That’s true as well, but it’s still not the reason.”

  I stared into his eyes, his heartbeat quickening under my hand.

  “You, Sophie Brooks, have captivated my heart, something no other girl has done.” He lifted his hand to cup my cheek, then lowered his head, brushing his lips softly against mine.

  My heart stuttered in response. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I would find a boyfriend like Mathieu Rousseau. It occurred to me that my wish on the star outside of Notre Dame had come true.

  As he kissed me again, I felt a new hope for doing well in the audition and getting accepted.

  Now I only had to convince my father.

  CHAPTER Thirty

  MATHIEU’S FATHER SHOWED up minutes later. He gave us a huge grin, asked us if we had fun, and then let us get lost in each other all over again. There was less traffic, so we reached my apartment sooner than I would have liked. Mathieu slid out of his seat and held his hand out to me.

  I leaned over the front seat. “Merci, Monsieur Rousseau. I’m so happy to have met you.”

  He cast a glance at his son. “I have never seen Mathieu this happy.” Then he grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Merci.”

  Mathieu grabbed my arm and pulled me out, cringing.

  “I’m sorry about my father.”

  “Don’t be,” I said as he walked me to the front door. “I like him.”

  A boyish grin spread across his face. “I do too.”

  I turned to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank you for the most perfect evening.”

  His lips were warm and possessive as they claimed mine. Every kiss from Mathieu Rousseau had been special and amazing, but this one topped them all. I stared at him in amazement as he lifted his head. If this was only the beginning, how much better could it get?

  He reached into his pocket. “I have a gift for you.”

  I gasped and dropped my hold on him. “What is it?”

  He laughed. “If you get this excited over gifts, then I shall get you more. But first this one.” He grabbed my hand and pressed something cold and metallic in my palm. “It’s the key to your heart.” He laughed at my obvious confusion. “It’s a key to my apartment. And my piano.”

  I smirked at his joke. “Aren’t you worried I only want to be with you for your piano?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

  I couldn’t believe he had given me a key. I closed my fist, the rough edges of the metal scraping my palm, but I held it close to my chest. “Thank you, Mathieu. This means so much to me.”

  “Now Etienne won’t have to let you in. My mother and beaupère leave for work at eight thirty. You can come in whenever you like after that. They usually come home at six.”

  “And you . . . ? When do you leave for the school?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Seven. But I get home around three.”

  “Then maybe I shall see you tomorrow.” I’d been skirting my dad’s four hours of practice a day rule, but he would have to lift it if I had any shot at getting accepted.

  He kissed me again, his lips soft and adoring. “Bonne nuit, mon amour.”

  “What did you just say?” I whispered.

  He pressed the buzzer to my apartment and then took several steps backward. “Good night, my love.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. Did that mean what I thought it meant?

  The buzzer sounded. When I pulled the front door open, Mathieu turned around and got into his father’s car, pausing to give me a little wave.

  Eric was standing in the open doorway when I reached the landing. I expected some snide comment, but there was a strange look on his face when I brushed past him. It wasn’t an angry look, so maybe Eva had told him to back off.

  “Sophie, we’re in here,” Dad called out, and I found him and Eva sitting on the sofa facing the doors.

  I set my new key on top of the keyboard before I walked into the room.

  “Come tell us about your evening,” Eva said, but I could tell something was off. Was I in trouble? If so, I couldn’t understand why. It was only 10:45.

  I sat on the sofa opposite them. “It was good. I loved the concert. There’s a tricky movement in the sonata that he fumbled a little, but most people would never have known.” I was babbling, and I knew it. Each moment I spent in here was like being in a walk-in freezer. There was something badly wrong—I wanted to ask what, but I was afraid of the answer.

  Eric came in and sat next to me, perching on the arm of the sofa, but Camille and Dane were noticeably absent.

  “And Mathieu was a gentleman?” Eva cast a glance to my father.

  “Yes. His father drives a taxi, so he took us and brought us home. We had cheesecake and crème brûlée after.” The tension was so thick in the room, I was choking on it. “Are we done? I want to call Jenna and tell her about the concert.” Maybe I was wrong; maybe I was reading them incorrectly. There was still hope.

  “Sophie,” Dad said, worry tugging his mouth down. “There’s something we have to tell you.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes, and I tried to calm my racing heart. “Is it Mom?”

  “Non, mon petit chou.” Eva leaned forward. “Your mother is fine.”

  “Then what is it? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Jenna,” Dad said, clenching his jaw. “She was in a very bad accident a few hours ago.”

  I gasped. “Is she dead?”

  “Non!” Eva said, rushing around the coffee table to sit beside me. Wrapping her arm around my back, she pulled me close. “But she is seriously injured.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I just talked to her this afternoon to tell her about my date. She was fine. She was going to Lauren’s house to go swimming.”

  “She was on her way to Lauren’s,” Dad said, his voice breaking. “A truck broadsided her, and her car rolled over.”

  “Is she okay?” I started to cry, and Eva’s hold tightened.

  “She’s in the ICU with internal injuries. They aren’t . . .” Dad took a deep breath. “They aren’t sure if she’ll make it. She’s in surgery now.”

  My sobs broke loose. “No!”

  “I’m so sorry, Sophie.” Dad’s voice broke once again.

  “Daddy.” I walked around the coffee table, lunged for him, and wrapped my arms around his neck, heaving sobs. For fifteen years, he had been the one to make ev
erything okay. He had been the one to hold me when I woke up in darkness, fresh from a nightmare. He had been my rock of reassurance when I was scared, and I’d never been more scared than I was right now. “She can’t die, Daddy. I can’t lose her too.”

  Dad started to cry. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry.” I knew he wasn’t just talking about Jenna.

  Once I had settled down a bit, Eva knelt in front of me. “Would you like to change your clothes? Maybe get into your pajamas? Jenna’s parents said they would keep us updated. We plan to stay up and wait for their call.”

  “You too?” I asked surprised. “You don’t even know her.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “She’s special to you. That makes her important.” She grabbed my arm and stood. “Come. Camille has laid some pajamas out on your bed.”

  “She did?” I asked in surprise.

  “She’s worried about you.”

  I had serious doubts about that, but I didn’t have the brain capacity to work through it.

  Camille was sitting on her bed when I entered the room, looking uncertain. Sure enough, there was a pair of pajamas folded on the bed.

  I changed in front of her, not caring if she saw me naked. It struck me that this was another way living here had changed me, but I was too numb to give it much thought.

  After I washed my face and took down my hair, I found Dad, Eva, and Eric in the living room. Dad lifted his arm, and I started to cry all over again.

  Eva threw a soft blanket over me and curled up on the opposite sofa. Eric sat beside her, on the other end, his eyes red.

  “You’re staying up too?” I asked.

  He just nodded in answer.

  Eva turned on the TV and put in a DVD—Father of the Bride. It had been Dad’s and my favorite movie to watch together back home.

  He’d bought it for me.

  I snuggled against Dad, his arm around me, his hand stroking my hair. The familiarity helped soothe me, and I was actually dozing a bit when Dad’s phone rang.

  He jerked upright, pulling his arm free so he could grab his phone off the side table. “Ron, how is she?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his forehead on his palm. “I see.” My heart leapt into my throat as he listened intently. “Uh huh . . . Okay . . . Keep me updated . . . Yeah, I’ll tell Sophie. Let me know if we can do anything.”

  “Is she okay?” I asked, trying to hold back my tears.

  Eric was leaning forward, waiting with an anxious look on his face. Eva had grabbed his hand, and he was holding it tight.

  “She’s out of surgery. They had to remove her ruptured spleen and she had some other injuries, like a punctured lung, but she’s going to be okay.”

  My tears broke free, and Dad pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “She’s going to be okay.”

  Eva spoke softly in French, and Dad nodded before she said in English, “We should all try to get some sleep.”

  Dad and Eric stood, but I lay down on the sofa. “I want to stay out here.”

  Eva nodded her approval, then straightened the blanket over me. “Try to get some sleep, mon petit chou.”

  She started to walk away but I called after her. “Eva.”

  She squatted next to me, and tears of gratitude filled my eyes. Had she gone through a vigil like this after her husband’s accident? Had she been forced to relive the trauma? It made my heart hurt to think about it.

  “Thank you . . . for everything. I’m sorry I was so awful when I first came.”

  A soft smile lifted her mouth. “Shh . . .” She smoothed back my hair and wiped a tear rolling down my cheek. “I understood.”

  I sat up and sniffed. “If my dad had to remarry, I’m so glad it was you.” I gave her a smile. “I love you.”

  Her chin quivered and she sucked in her bottom lip as she sat down next to me, then wrapped her arms around me. “Sophie, ma cocotte. I love you too.” She kissed my cheek and then stood. “Go to sleep without worry. Jenna will be fine.”

  I lay back down and closed my eyes, but there were so many emotions washing through me I had trouble sleeping. I was dozing when I heard murmurs in the doorway.

  “What if it was her, Eva?” my dad said. He was leaning into the doorframe. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Eva was standing next to him, rubbing his arm. “Sophie is fine, but she needs you, William. Being away from you is different for her than it is for Eric. Let her audition. She might make the program, and then you can see her all the time.”

  “We don’t even know if she’ll get in. I would hate to see her put herself out there only to get hurt. This is Paris, Eva. The center of culture. The best of the best go to music school here.”

  She laughed softly. “I am aware this is Paris”—she said it the French way, leaving off the S—“but she is very good. Have you heard her play since she’s come?”

  “She might be good, but is she Paris good?”

  “Madeline says she’s close. But she needs more practice time. You have to give it to her.”

  He released a sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “William.” She sounded insistent. “You can’t hold her back because of your regrets. She has to make her own choices.”

  “She’s a kid, Eva. She’s too young to make this kind of decision.”

  “She’s no longer a child. And if you keep her from her dream, she will resent you for it. If nothing else, give her the freedom to practice as much as she needs.”

  “Fine. She can practice, but I still don’t think she should audition.” He walked away, but Eva watched me for several seconds before going to bed.

  I’d already guessed that my father didn’t want me to audition, so why was it so hard to hear him say it?

  Maybe because I worried he didn’t want me here at all.

  CHAPTER Thirty-One

  I HAD A massive headache the next morning, but an ibuprofen and a quick shower helped me feel better. When I went to gather my music, I was surprised to find a note from my father.

  Practice for as long as you want.

  It was what I wanted, yet his words from the night before still hurt. I stuffed the music and my laptop into my bag, then picked up the key Mathieu had given me.

  The key to my heart.

  Mathieu had been right. I had my music. I didn’t need my father’s approval. But as I walked to Mathieu’s apartment half an hour earlier than usual, I realized something else was more important right now. I needed to go home to Charleston. Jenna was lying in a hospital bed on the other side of the world, and she needed me.

  I sent Dad a text saying I needed to go home to Jenna, and he texted back to say we’d talk about it later that night. Ten hours wasn’t going to make a difference. Mom and her boyfriend were on a weekend ocean cruise and inaccessible until Sunday night. There was no way Dad would let me go home to an empty house.

  In the meantime, I planned to play my heart out on the piano.

  I worried I might have problems getting inside the building, but all the doors opened without a hitch. I felt like a trespasser going into the empty apartment, but I sat down at the piano and began to play straightaway.

  I was lost in the music, as always, but forced myself to concentrate on the technical side of the sonata. Anything less than perfection would be unacceptable if I wanted to succeed.

  If I was even still here to audition.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been playing when my phone rang, but I was in the middle of my Rachmaninoff piece. My stomach clenched when I saw it was Jenna’s mother’s phone.

  “Mrs. D, how is she?”

  “It’s me,” Jenna said, her voice sounding weak and far away.

  “Oh! Jenna! Are you okay?” I shook my head. “Of course you’re not okay. How are you?” I stood and began to pace.

  “Calm down, Soph. Breathe.”

  “How can I calm down when you almost died?”

  “I didn’t almost die . . . Mom, stop. She’s already
freaked out. Okay, I get it,” she said, sounding frustrated. She sounded loopy too, and I wondered how much pain medication she was hopped up on. “Everyone’s freaking out about how I almost died, but how do you think I feel? No more talk about me almost dying, got it?”

  “Got it,” I said, and Jenna’s mother’s answer echoed mine on the other end of the line.

  “I’m calling to let you know I’m okay, although I hear I look like a patchwork quilt, which totally sucks since I got this really cute bikini on sale last week . . . Yes, Mom, it covers my butt . . . Mom! I almost died. I think saying the word butt is the least of my worries. Especially since I’ll never wear it or any other bikini again.”

  “Why? Because of your scar?” I asked. “It’s a war wound. Wear it proudly.”

  “Yeah,” she said, but her voice was weaker.

  “You need some rest, Jenna. Why don’t you call me later, and you can tell me about all of the cute doctors in the hospital.”

  “I have to tell you something first.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t think I can come on Sunday.”

  My heart sank. I had guessed as much, of course. “I had a feeling you might have to cancel. I think they frown on bringing IV poles on planes. It’s hard to get them through the metal detectors in security. Which is why I think I should come home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you need me.”

  “But what about the cute French boy? What about your audition?”

  “Who cares about the audition? Who would want to go to school with a bunch of fussy French people?”

  “You,” she said softly. “Music is your dream.”

  Oh, she knew me so well. “Jenna, I can’t stay here knowing you’re in a hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of tubes and wires, coming in and out of consciousness with no one there to give you a fair and accurate assessment of the hotness of all the doctors, interns, male nurses, and other hospital personnel that come in and out of your room.”

  “Ow!” she shouted. “Stop making me laugh. It hurts. And like you would ever do such a thing. That’s what I would do.”