One Paris Summer (Blink) (25 page)

Oh no. She was still at work. “I’m sorry. I really am. If I’d had any clue everyone was so freaked out, I would have come home sooner.”

“Home.”

Oh crap. I’d never called Dad’s apartment
home
before, and it was a bad time to start. “Mom, you will always be my real home. Not Charleston. Not our house. Not this apartment. You.”

“I love you so much, Sophie.” She started crying again. “I don’t know what I’d ever do if anything happened to you.”

“I love you too, Mom, but I can’t go home yet. I’m not done here yet.”

“Okay.”

“I think they’re getting me a cell phone, so you can call me whenever you’re worried.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, so I said, “Mom, Eva’s incredibly nice, but you are my mom. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

“You’re growing up and leaving me,” she said through tears. “I thought I had two more years, but you’re already pulling away.”

Guilt washed through me and I wondered if I should tell her I was considering auditioning for
Conservatoire de Seine
. But I’d probably never get an audition, so I didn’t see the point of upsetting her.

“Momma, I’ll be home in another month and everything will be back to normal.” Yet we both knew there was some truth to her words. I was changing, for the better, but I was changing regardless. I wouldn’t be the defenseless daughter she’d put on a plane weeks ago.

“So you must be having fun if you want to stay.”

“Yeah . . .”

“You met a boy.”

I felt myself blushing. “Maybe . . .”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s a friend’s of Camille’s. His mother is a professor at a conservatory. He has a Steinway and he lets me play it.”

“Oh . . . so he knows the way to your heart.”

My grin spread. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Tell me more about him.”

I looked behind me to make sure no one was listening, then opened the massive windows and walked onto the narrow balcony. “His name is Mathieu.”

“Oh.” I heard the smile in her voice. “Very French.”

“He’s going to be a senior. He’s got very dark hair, almost black, and deep blue eyes. He’s about six inches taller than me.”

“The perfect height for wearing heels.”

I blushed again. “Yes.”

“I want to know more.”

I told her about him walking me to his apartment and teaching me French, about how he understood what I was going through because his parents were divorced.

“He sounds like a wonderful boy, Sophie. So why do I hear a
but
in there?”

“Camille and Mathieu dated—very briefly—but still . . .”

“Oh.”

“He’s going to ask Camille for her blessing for us to be together since she’s seeing Dane.”

“Wait. Dane Wallace?”

I told her about the two of them, Mathieu’s internship, and the deep dark secret he feared Camille would reveal.

“I doubt it’s as bad as he thinks,” she said. “And if Eva is any kind of professional at all, she won’t let her daughter influence her decision.”

“Mom.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“Camille will never tell him it’s okay, and he won’t tell anyone he likes me if she doesn’t. But it’s his future, Mom. I can’t ask him to give that up for me.”

“Then don’t, Sophie. You’re there for another month. Just take what you can have and cherish it forever when you come home. How many sixteen year olds can say they had a summer romance in Paris?”

I gasped. “I can’t believe you’re saying that. You’re telling me to lie?”

“No, of course not, but let me ask you this: if you were back home and your father were here, would you tell him everything that was going on between you and Mathieu?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“This is the same. I’m not telling you to sneak around, but if you’re going to practice at his house every day, you’ll get to see him a lot.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Your memories will be even more special. Just leave it open and see what happens.”

“But . . .”

“It’s not like it would ever last. You’ll have to say good-bye when you come home anyway. A long-distance relationship when you’re sixteen is unrealistic.”

My chest constricted at that. She was right. After this summer, I’d probably never see Mathieu again.

“Eric has figured it out. He’s gone from ignoring everything about me to becoming obsessed with keeping me away from Mathieu.”

She laughed. “He’s your older brother. It comes with the job description.”

“I miss you, Mom.”

“I miss you too. No more scaring me like you did today. I expect that kind of behavior from Eric, not you.”

“I’ll try.”

“Keep sending me email updates. And include Mathieu now.”

I grinned. “Okay. I will.”

Even from thousands of miles away, Mom knew how to make me feel better. My heart was being pulled in two different directions—back to my mom and what was familiar and to Paris and the possibility of so much more.

If I were totally honest, one person here tugged at me the most. I planned to take my mother’s advice and make the most of it.

DAD AND EVA
became even more determined to work on blending our family, despite a collective bad attitude on the part of us teens. Saturday was the Fourth of July and so Dad made barbecue chicken, but Eric complained that it wasn’t the Fourth without fireworks. By Sunday night, they’d all but given up, even if our level of animosity toward one another had significantly decreased.

On Monday morning, I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. This would be the first time I’d see Mathieu since Friday night, so I spent more time getting ready and even decided to wear a skirt. Eric was standing in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas and a scowl on his face, nursing a cup of coffee. He watched as I stuffed my music and brand-new cell phone into my bag,

“If you aren’t back by noon, I’m coming to his house to get you.”

My mouth dropped open. “Dad promised me four hours. It’s almost nine now. That’s barely three hours.”

He shrugged, looking indignant.

“You can’t do this, Eric!”

He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Then maybe I should give Dad a call. I’m sure he’d want to know you’re about to spend hours alone with a guy you were making out with while everyone thought you were being murdered in some back alley.”

I wanted to kick him. “Twelve thirty. I swear, all I do is practice there. You know how lost I get in the music while I’m playing.”

“Fine. But you have to go out with Camille and her friends.”

“No!” The mutual desire for me to stay away from future group outings was probably the one thing Camille and I had in common.

“Then let me borrow your new phone to call Dad.”

“Fine!” I bolted out the door and down the stairs, pushing all thoughts of my brother out of my head. I ran so fast I was out of breath by the time I reached the bottom of the steps, but the sight of Mathieu waiting outside the front door made me breathless for a different reason.

“
Bonjour
,” he murmured, staring into my face, then letting his eyes glance down at my legs and back up.

“
Bonjour
.” My stomach was twisted into as many knots as a friendship bracelet. Our kisses Friday night had happened under the cover of darkness. Now it was the light of day, albeit a beautiful sunny day, and I wasn’t sure what the rules were.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry filling his eyes. “Did you get into a lot of trouble?”

“No, strangely enough, I didn’t, but it wasn’t any less ugly.”

He looked confused.

“Eric yelled. Camille yelled. Eva and Dad freaked out. I talked to my mother on the phone and she cried. They worried that I’d been kidnapped or murdered.”

He cringed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“How do
you
know?”

“Camille.”

“She doesn’t know you were with me on Friday night?”

“No. She thought you were wandering around alone. Your brother didn’t tell anyone?”

“No. What would you have done if Camille asked you about it?”

“I would have denied it.”

“You didn’t talk to her about us?”

“Not yet.” At least there was an apologetic look on his face when he said it. Part of me was upset, but I reminded myself of what Mom had said. This was temporary at best. I needed to accept it and be happy with what I had right now.

Mathieu tentatively reached for my hand, then interlaced our fingers when I didn’t pull away. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

He seemed just as uncertain about the rules of
us
as I was, which made me feel better. Feeling more confident, I asked him about his weekend.

When we arrived at the
pâtisserie
, he encouraged me to order in French. He paid and grabbed the bags, then surprised me by saying, “Let’s sit and eat here.”

When I didn’t protest, he sat down at a table on the sidewalk, and I sat across from him, suddenly nervous again. Was this a date?

He gave me an apologetic smile. “I know this is stealing part of your practice time . . .”

“No. You know, we’ve had breakfast together a lot, but this is the first time we’ve actually sat down to do it.” I paused, then said softly, “I like it.”

“Your French is getting better. Would you like to learn more?”

I grinned. “
Oui.
But I want to learn useful things.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “What could be more useful than learning how to ask for the restroom?”

I tilted my head. “It’s hard to imagine anything could be
more
useful, so maybe we could figure out something only slightly
less
useful.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” His face lit up. He was wearing a pale blue T-shirt with French writing across the front. The way it stretched across his chest and biceps made me blush a little. This tall, handsome, well-built guy wanted
me
. A warm feeling swelled in my chest.

“Um . . .” I took a bite of my pastry. I’d picked an
éclair
today. “How about
what is your phone number?
”

His eyebrows rose playfully. “Are you asking for my number, Sophie?”

“Maybe.”

“Puis-je avoir ton numéro de téléphone?”

I repeated the phrase, then dug out my phone and said, “Well? Are you going to give it to me?”

He leaned over and took it from me, surprise on his face. “You got a phone? When?”

“After Friday night. Eva said they needed a way to make sure I was safe, so they got me one.”

He tapped the screen and handed it back to me as his phone began to ring. He dug it out of his pocket. “
Allô
.” Then he looked at me. “That is how you answer.”

I held the phone up to my ear. “
Allô.
”

He spoke French into the phone. I couldn’t understand anything past his greeting, but I decided I liked having his voice in my ear. Then he hung up.

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a look of mock reprimand. “I have no idea what you just said.”

His blue eyes danced with amusement. “Lucky for me that means I still have a job as your French tutor.”

We stayed a little longer to finish our pastry and coffee, then walked to his apartment. “Eric says I have to be home by twelve thirty or he’s going to tell Dad you were with me on Friday.”

His smile fell. “So I did take away from your practice time.”

I squeezed his hand. “No. I loved this morning. Really. And if Camille won’t approve . . .”

He stopped and looked down at me. “I’m not ashamed of you.”

“I know.” But he hadn’t even tried.

He leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss, full of adoration and hope, then murmured against my lips, “I really like you, Sophie Brooks.”

“I really like you too, Mathieu Rousseau.” I always thought of him as Mathieu, not Mathieu Rousseau. “It sounds so French,” I thought out loud, then immediately turned beet red.

“You are adorable, Sophie Brooks, even when you state the obvious.” Then he began to walk again. “But we must hurry so you’ll have enough practice time.”

When we entered his apartment, we fell into our usual routine. Mathieu opened the piano, then disappeared; I got out my music and began to play. I was completely lost in a section of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude—one I was finally feeling good about—when I noticed him standing next to the piano.

I stopped and groaned, frustrated that I had to stop. “Is it time to go?”

“Oui et non.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. How could it be both?

“Camille called. She wants me to take you to meet her, your brother, and our friends.”

“What? Why?”

“They want to see the
Opéra
and she says it will be faster if I take you.”

“They’re going to an opera? Is it in French?”

He chuckled. “No. They are touring the building. It’s very famous.”

“Were you planning to go?”

He grimaced and looked away.

He wasn’t. So he was changing his schedule to accommodate my irritating stepsister. “I can just go by myself.” I would have put it off altogether, but I’d promised Eric. “Help me figure out which trains to take.”