One Paris Summer (Blink) (30 page)

We were about halfway across the lawn when Camille began to wave to a group about thirty feet away.

I scanned the crowd and found Thomas waving at me. As we got closer, I could see that Marine, Julien, and Sarah were with him, along with about ten other people I didn’t recognize. None of them were Mathieu. I was equally relieved and disappointed.

I needed to get over Mathieu Rousseau.

Thomas was sitting on the grass. He patted a space next to him, and I climbed around several people until I reached him and plopped down.

The new teens must have heard about
the Americans
, because they openly stared at us for a few seconds. To my surprise, Camille introduced us before proceeding to ignore me as usual.

I’d honestly expected to be bored, but once Thomas started talking to me, some of Camille’s other friends began to talk to me too. Soon I started to have fun. Despite myself, though, I missed Mathieu and wondered what he was doing with his family. And I just couldn’t shake the heaviness in my heart. I told myself it would take time. Part of me believed it.

The sun began to go down just before ten o’clock, and someone pulled out several bottles of wine and began to pass them around.

I started to panic. I’d had sips of my parents’ drinks before, but I typically avoided parties that served alcohol. I cast a glance toward my brother, not surprised to see him take a swig from one of the bottles.

Thomas must have seen the look on my face, because he leaned in toward my ear. “You won’t get in trouble for drinking.”

The bottle was passed to him and he took a drink, then handed it to me. I took a little sip, trying not to grimace at the taste, and passed it to the girl next to me. They continued passing the bottle around, and when it came to me again I handed it to the next person without taking a drink.

A girl asked Thomas a question in French and he answered in English. “Mathieu is with his family.” He shot a glance to me, and for a second I wondered if he’d figured out there had been something between the two of us. But then he turned back to the girl. “English, please. Sophie’s French is improving, but she still doesn’t understand everything.”

His friends grudgingly listened. “I’m surprised he’s coming around at all after what happened with Camille and Hugo,” one of the girls said.

“You’re his best friend, Thomas,” one of the guys said. “What
did
happen?”

Thomas didn’t answer, and someone handed him the bottle. He took a longer drink than before and shook his head. “He won’t tell me details, but I know he found them . . . together.”

I tried not to gasp in surprise. Camille had cheated on him? So how was it that
she
had something on
him
?

One of the guys leaned back on his hands. “I heard he’s been hanging out with you guys since school let out. Are they back together?”

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see if she was listening. When he saw she was deep in conversation with Marine and Dane, he lowered his voice. “
Non.
We could tell he didn’t want to be with us, but he came anyway. It was like she made him come.”

His secret. She had been using it to order him around.

What a witch.

She’d probably kept him around in the hopes he would take her back. It explained why he wasn’t around anymore now that she was hooking up with Dane.

A loud noise burst over our heads. Reminded of the men walking around with machine guns, I ducked, then cringed with embarrassment when I realized there were fireworks overhead. But thankfully no one noticed. Their attention was fixed on the show lighting up the sky.

My head whirled with the information I’d just heard. Why hadn’t Mathieu told me Camille had cheated?

Thomas wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, grinning like a fool. “Tell me, Sophie Brooks, does your boyfriend back home take you to see fireworks?”

No more lies. No more secrets. I was sick of them. “I don’t have a boyfriend back home.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You broke up?” he shouted over the booms of the fireworks.

I shook my head. “No. I never had one.”

I expected him to be angry with me, which I totally deserved, so I wasn’t prepared when he pulled me against him and kissed me. I tasted the wine on his lips and his tongue as he tried to deepen the kiss. For a couple of seconds I was too shocked to react. Then he lifted his face and smiled.

Oh no. What had I done?

He slipped his arm to my lower back, and while I wanted to shove his arm off me, I was still sorting out everything in my head. I only knew two things for sure. One, I was in shock, and two, I was slightly disappointed I didn’t feel anything with him. It would have made things so much easier.

My mother once told me the heart wants what the heart wants, and it was just my luck my heart wanted someone I couldn’t have: Mathieu Rousseau.

IT WAS STRANGE
not seeing Mathieu on my doorstep the next morning. The ache in my chest made me wish I had reconsidered, but I knew I’d made the right choice. It was living with it that sucked.

When I reached his apartment, I pressed the button and a buzzer sounded. “Come on in,” a male voice said. It didn’t sound like his voice, but I figured it was just speaker distortion, so I was surprised to see Etienne when I knocked on the front door.

“
Bonjour
, Sophie.”

“Etienne. What are you doing home? Don’t you have swimming today?”

“The pool water needs . . .” His face scrunched as he tried to figure out the right words, then gave up. “It’s closed.”

“Oh. Is Mathieu here?”

“
Non.
” He stepped to the side, unblocking the doorway. “But you can come in.”

My heart hurt a little, but I walked in and headed for the piano, pulling out my music as I walked. I was dying to know where Mathieu was, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t any of my business.

“Do you think I could stay later today? I’m supposed to play for my music teacher at two o’clock.” He looked confused, so I added, “I’m going to video-chat her.”

“I have to leave for a little while, but you can stay.”

“Thank you!” I pulled out my laptop. “Also, can I get your Wi-Fi password?”

He nodded and gave it to me, and I typed it in so I’d have it ready for when I needed to call Miss Lori.

I started my warm up, the fingering so rote and mindless that I began to think about the night before. It had quickly turned into a nightmare.

Thomas tried to kiss me again after the first disaster kiss. I backed away from him, giving him the hint I wasn’t open to his PDA, but the moment the fireworks finished, he got to his feet and hauled me up with him.

“I like you, Sophie,”

I was about to tell him I liked him too—just not the way he liked me—but Eric stepped between us.

“Keep your hands off my sister,” he snarled.

Thomas backed up and started speaking in rapid-fire French to my brother.

“Eric!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “What are you doing?”

“Watching out for you.”

“I don’t need you to watch out for me! I can take care of myself.”

I turned around to apologize to Thomas, but he and Camille were now in a heated conversation. Not long after, he left without saying anything to me, and Camille berated Eric for his brutish behavior all the way home.

In a nutshell, it had been a lovely night of family bonding.

So now Camille and Eric weren’t speaking to each other, and Dane thought Eric had lost his mind. I tried to think positive: at least Camille had turned her disdain on to someone else, and Dane was leaving in four days.

Which meant Jenna was coming in five.

And once she came, boys wouldn’t matter. I’d spend all my free time with my friend.

I soon lost myself in my music. Mathieu’s mother’s suggestion had really helped, and now that my fingers had the timing worked out, it sounded awesome. Yet something was missing. I hoped Miss Lori could help me figure out what it was.

I still needed to work on the other two pieces, but for the first time I thought I might actually have a shot at winning a spot at the
conservatoire
.

Before I knew it, my alarm went off, letting me know my call was in fifteen minutes. I’d been sitting at the piano for over four hours, and I needed to get up and walk around and pee. I’d packed a sandwich, so I pulled it out and ate it as I stood and stretched my aching back muscles.

“Etienne?” I called out. “Are you home?”

He didn’t answer, so I figured he was still gone.

As I finished the last bites, I wandered down the hall, feeling like a trespasser as I looked for the restroom.

Mathieu’s apartment was like Eva’s—the toilet was in its own closet. So after I peed, I found the bathroom and washed my hands, then dared to peek into the doorway directly across from me. Through the partially open door, I could see posters of swimmers tacked to the walls. The full-size bed was unmade, but the rest of the room was fairly clean. This was obviously Etienne’s room, and I wondered if the door a few feet down led to Mathieu’s room.

I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but I was overcome by the desire to at least see some small part of him.

The door was almost all the way closed, but a soft nudge pushed it open enough for me to get a glimpse. The walls were a soft gunmetal gray, and a black duvet covered the full-size bed. A dark wood desk was pushed up against the wall, and a neat pile of books was stacked in a corner. I was dying to see what they were, but I’d already invaded his privacy enough without crossing the threshold.

On the wall opposite the bed was a TV attached to the wall and a dark wood console with a game system and controllers. There was a partially open window opposite the door, covered in white gauzy curtains that fluttered in the breeze.

I missed him so much my chest hurt.

That was stupid, right? I’d only known him for several weeks, yet he was such a huge part of my life here. He was the reason I’d given Paris a chance. This one summer in Paris was supposed to be nothing more than a forced trip to see my father. I hadn’t expected to fall in love.

Oh no. I was falling for Mathieu Rousseau.

Tears filled my eyes. I had the absolute worst luck.

A sudden ringing in my pocket made me jump. It was my alarm giving me a five-minute warning for my call with Miss Lori. I carefully closed the door to Mathieu’s world and went back out into the living room so I could open the video-call app on my laptop.

Miss Lori called me less than a minute later, and I tried to forget about Mathieu. I needed to focus on this call and on my music. Miss Lori was a middle-aged woman whose love for what she did was obvious from her bubbly, outgoing personality. She’d been my piano teacher ever since we moved to Charleston, so she greeted me warmly and congratulated me for earning the audition.

“What can you tell me about Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in B Minor Op. 32?” she asked.

“I couldn’t find much,” I said, too ashamed to admit I hadn’t spent a lot of time trying. “But I know it was Rachmaninoff’s favorite piece he wrote.”

“True. Did you by any chance pull up Valentina Lisitsa’s performance?”

I grinned, knowing she was teasing me. Valentina Lisitsa was my idol. “Of course.”

“And do you remember what she said on her YouTube posting? She called it depression in manifest form. Now play it for me, Sophie.”

I moved the laptop so she could see my fingers, then held my fingers over the keys. Suddenly I knew what was missing from the piece. I hadn’t attached it to my soul yet.

I closed my eyes and began the soft, haunting melody, the minor chords tugging at my aching soul. The first two minutes of the piece were a slow build to the heavier, faster movement that captured Rachmaninoff’s frustration and desperation. I poured my heart into it, conveying through the music my profound sadness over my father, Mathieu, my feud with Camille, and my homesickness for my mother. It all bled through my fingertips onto the keys, so when I finished the last notes a little over five minutes later, I felt like I’d laid my soul bare.

I held my fingers over the keyboard as the last haunting notes faded with the pedal, then took a deep breath and waited for Miss Lori’s feedback. But she hadn’t said anything after several long seconds, so I began to wonder if I’d lost the connection with her. I turned to face the computer, surprised to see awe in her eyes.

“Oh, Sophie. You have far surpassed my expectations with this piece. No wonder Madame Rousseau invited you to audition. It was stunning.”

I shook my head. “No. When she heard it, I was still working on the technical pieces. That was the first time I connected my heart to it.”

“My darling, you will wow them, not only with the technicality but also the emotion. Brava.”

She had me play a few portions over again and offered some fingering suggestions. “Do you have the music for the other two pieces?”

“No, I plan to get them this afternoon.”

“Your technique has improved since you played the Mozart Sonata a year ago. It will help that you’re familiar with the piece, but go after it like it’s new. We can schedule some video lessons after you’ve gotten familiar with it again.”