One Paris Summer (Blink) (10 page)

Technically, it was an extremely easy piece to play, but it had been written with the intent to be sung. Without the aria, it
wasn’t much, yet a haunting sadness remained. And Miss Lori was right: I felt an eerie connection to it. Dido, the queen of Carthage, was wooed by the soldier Aeneas, who swore to love her and then promptly abandoned her.

Miss Lori had known exactly which piece to pick.

My mother and brother became sick to death of the song, but I memorized it and started to feel the intent of the notes.

When I played it for Miss Lori, she was quiet for a good ten seconds, tears in her eyes. “That was beautiful, Sophie. I could feel the sadness in your soul.”

And while that sounded incredibly depressing, I was thankful to find a way to purge my sorrow.

My music changed after that. Most of the compositions Miss Lori gave me were centuries old, yet the men, long since dead, could make me feel the emotions they had infused into their compositions—anger, sorrow, loneliness—and all of it poured from my fingers onto the keys. Over the last year, music had become interwoven with the threads of my soul.

So as I played
Clair de Lune
now, I let my distress and sense of betrayal over my father’s marriage flow through my fingers onto the plastic keys. The keyboard was so light to the touch that I made errors, but to the unpracticed ear they were minor. Besides, this session wasn’t about being technically proficient. It was about exorcising my demons.

When I finished, I set my hands on my lap, then looked up at my new stepmother, surprised by the tears in her eyes. “Sophie, that was beautiful.”

I gave her a soft smile. “Thank you, Eva . . . for everything.” I knew she was going out of her way to make me feel welcome, and it made me appreciate her, even if I was still furious about the circumstances that had brought us together. The conflicting emotions were unsettling.

She leaned over and gave me a tight hug, and for a brief moment, I thought maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.

And then Camille came home.

“You really got her a piano?” my stepsister asked in disgust. She stood in the doorway, shaking her head. Dane was behind her, looking over her shoulder.

Eva turned to face her daughter. “Camille. Sophie is very talented. She needs to practice.”

“I’m very good with dogs, yet you’ve never let me get one.”

Eva sighed. “I have to get back to the office. We’ll discuss this more tonight.” She went into the kitchen, grabbed her leather purse from the table, and placed a lingering kiss on her daughter’s cheek when she came back into the hall. Then she spoke softly in French.

Whatever she said upset Camille so much her eyes filled with tears. Then she immediately headed into her room and shut the door behind her, this time without a slam. I cast an anxious look toward it, wishing I’d thought to grab my sheet music. But I hadn’t played for nearly a week. I wasn’t looking to practice. I needed to
play
.

Eric handed me the headphones with a wry grin. “I think we need a pair of these at home.”

I hoped he didn’t get too used to it.

MY MOTHER AND
I had been emailing daily, and she kept asking if my father had followed through with getting me a piano. I’d dodged her questions so far, although I wasn’t sure why. I used to take my dad’s side in everything, but why was I covering for him now? Maybe some habits were hard to break. I finally told her that Eva had gotten me a keyboard, and on Wednesday afternoon—her Wednesday morning, her day off—she video-called me.

“Making sure you had access to a real piano was part of the agreement,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “Your father assured me that would happen, but apparently he’s too busy living his new life to concern himself with it.”

She was saying everything I’d already thought, yet I still found myself defending him. “Eva went out of her way to get me a keyboard,” I assured her. “I’m making do.”

She shook her head, her lips pursed in irritation. “That’s so typical of him—letting someone else clean up his mess. I’m calling him.”

“Mom, please don’t. I’ll work it out.”

She finally agreed, but only because her new boyfriend showed up to take her out to breakfast at the end of her call. I was usually irritated by how quickly she could forget us when he was around, but this time it worked to my advantage.

I hung up and took a deep breath. This was my second day alone in the apartment. Camille and the guys had gone off to meet her friends, but I’d insisted on staying behind, telling them
I needed the practice. Miss Lori had given me several new pieces to work on over the summer.

I also had no desire to spend any more time with my stepsister than necessary.

So I’d spent two full days practicing. After my call with my mother, I pounded on the keyboard in frustration. I tried to play a cadenza, but my fingers slipped over the too-loose keys.

My mother was right. This was never going to work. While I was grateful for Eva’s thoughtfulness, I was frustrated with the limitations. I needed a bench to fully slide from one end of the keyboard to the other, and if I had to play on these weak keys all summer, the muscle tone in my fingers was going to suffer. But if I let my mother intervene, it would only make a difficult situation worse.

What I really needed was to talk to Jenna. I risked video-calling her even though it was eight thirty in the morning in Charleston. To my surprise, she was already dressed and standing in her bathroom when she picked up the call.

“I have to multitask, Soph. I’m babysitting the Meriden twins and I’m leaving in twenty minutes.”

“The Meriden twins? You must be desperate.”

She turned toward her cell phone, her mascara wand in her hand. “Hello! I’m coming to Paris in almost four weeks! I need money. Now tell me everything! The wedding. Your new mom. You and Dane.”

I made a face. “It’s like I’m in
Cinderella
with a genuine evil stepsister.”

Jenna’s mouth twisted. “Figures. And your new mom?”

“
Step
mom.” I shrugged. “She’s nice. It’s complicated.”

“That’s fair. And Dane?”

“He’s part of the reason Camille got her evil status.”

Her eyes flew open. “She
stole
him? Already?”

“You don’t understand, Jen. She’s beautiful.”

“And so are you. Don’t sell yourself short. Plus, you and Dane have history.”

“But not the kind I want.”

She shook her head. “Where is he right now?”

I shrugged. “Dane and Eric went somewhere with Camille and a few of her friends. I think the
Grand Palais
.”

“Wait.” She blinked and held up her hands. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Eva got me a keyboard, so I stayed here to play.”

“You gave up spending personal time with Dane Wallace so you can stay in an apartment and play a piano?”

I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just tell her what a jerk he was being. There had been hints of it at home, but I’d chalked it up to teenage boy behavior. Living with him 24/7 had been eye-opening. “I know it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that . . .”

“
Sounds
ridiculous? Soph, that’s like rolling over and playing dead. You’re just giving her a chance to sink her claws in even more.”

“Yeah . . .”

“Wait. I know that look.” She grabbed the cell phone off the bathroom counter and it looked like she was walking into her bedroom. “Is there someone else?”

My cheeks grew hot. “No.” I shook my head. “I mean, I thought there might be, but it turned out he was just doing Camille’s dirty work.”

“Start from the beginning. Don’t leave out any details.”

So I told her about meeting Mathieu outside the restaurant, his subway station rescue, and his argument with Camille in the park.

When I finished, Jenna studied me for a moment. “It’s a tough call. Just remember that Dane is coming home and Mathieu is
staying in Paris. Dane could be your date to Homecoming while Mathieu will be making French bread.”

I rolled eyes. “I seriously doubt he’ll be baking bread.”

She lifted her eyebrows in mock exaggeration. “But you don’t know that, do you?”

I shook my head, grinning. “No. I suppose not.”

She lifted her chin with a smug smile. “I rest my case.”

“I miss you, Jen.”

“I miss you too. Don’t stay home tomorrow. Go with them and show Dane that he’ll be much happier with you.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You’ll figure it out. Flirt.”

I wasn’t so sure. The mere fact that I’d never had a boyfriend was proof of my inability to flirt with boys. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to flirt with
him
.

At dinner that night, I told Eric and Dane I was going out with them the next day. Dad looked ecstatic, and even Eva looked relieved to hear I would be leaving the apartment. But Camille looked like she’d swallowed a pumpkin.

“Where are you kids headed tomorrow?” Dad asked.

“The
Musée d’Orsay
,” Eric said, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth.

A museum. That was doable. Besides, I actually wanted to go.

I set my own alarm for the next day, making sure I was up in time to get ready. Today we took one subway to get there, the train stopping right outside the museum. Only three of Camille’s friends joined us this time—Marine, the blonde, aka Camille’s partner in crime; Marine’s brother, Julien, who looked a year or two younger than me; and Sarah, who seemed pretty quiet, even in French. I kept waiting for more of Camille’s friends to show up, and if we’d spoken a single civil word since we met, I
might have asked her. Instead I kept looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else was coming.

Okay, so maybe I was looking for a dark-haired guy with mesmerizing blue eyes.

We spent several hours touring the museum, and I couldn’t help thinking that when I was in grade school, we had enjoyed field trips to the art museum for the simple fact that we got out of school. Now we were purposely here, staring at oil paintings of Greek gods and goddesses, who of course were naked. Dane kept laughing and making snide comments about the women’s physical features in the paintings. Eric was going along with it, although not as wholeheartedly as his friend.

I shook my head. “You two are disgusting. Grow up.”

Jenna may have wanted me to flirt with Dane, but if he didn’t think Greek goddesses were up to his standards, I had nothing to offer him. And I was starting to think he had little to offer me. Camille, on the other hand, smirked at their antics like they were naughty schoolboys.

She could have him.

Since the museum went relatively well, I decided to risk another excursion. The next day we met Camille’s friends at the
Jardin du Luxembourg
again. I brought a book this time so I had something to do while everyone ignored me. Dane sat next to Camille again, and I noticed that Marine and Sarah seemed to be giving Eric a lot of attention. Mathieu was conspicuously absent, or at least his absence was noticed by me. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see him—to apologize? But I couldn’t ignore the fact that part of me liked him. How stupid was that? He was on the enemy side. In the end, I decided it was better he wasn’t there. My life was confusing enough as it was without adding Mathieu Rousseau into the mix.

I was lying on my stomach reading when I heard someone call out his name. I turned my head to see him walking toward us, his backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart fluttered, and I tried to contain the happiness bubbling up inside me.

He sauntered over to our group with a big grin on his face, but his smile dimmed in wattage when his gaze landed on me.

Not only did he not like me, he was annoyed by my presence. Great.

Dane leaned toward me. “Hey, Sophie. There’s the guy you pissed off.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned, but even though I turned back to my book, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I was on the periphery of the group, and he sat on the side opposite of me with several guys, one of whom was Julien.

They left me alone for the next half hour, but then Dane snatched my book out of my hands.

“Whatcha reading, Sophie?”

I sat upright in disbelief. “None of your business! Give that back!”

Wearing a stupid grin, he started to flip through pages, losing my spot. “It must be really good. A nuclear bomb could have gone off and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Give it back, Dane!”

“No. I want to know what’s got you so interested.” He stopped turning pages and started to read. “
He pulled me close, his mouth nibbling my ear
.” Dane looked at me with a grin. “I didn’t know you liked to read porn, Sophie.”

Camille and her friends began to laugh.

My face burned as I jumped to my feet. It wasn’t porn. It was a PG-13 YA romance, but that didn’t make it less embarrassing.

Dane flipped through several more pages and began to read. “
He took off his shirt and I couldn’t avert my eyes
.” He laughed. “Would you like me to take off my shirt? I’ll let you look.”