One Paris Summer (Blink) (15 page)

We all gaped at him in surprise. While he and Camille had followed us through the garden, they hadn’t shown any interest in what we were doing. Camille didn’t protest when Dane pulled her forward, wrapped his arm around her back, and held her hand out to the side. Then he leaned her backward and nuzzled her neck as she clung to him.

None of us laughed. I expected to feel some lingering tinge of jealousy, but I mostly felt weird, like I was a voyeur to some intimate moment I had no business watching.

The joyful mood dampened, and the power shifted in that moment. I wasn’t sure how, but it was obvious Camille was
no longer in charge, although I couldn’t figure out who had replaced her.

“
J’ai faim
,” Thomas said. “
Nous allons manger des crêpes.
” He turned to me. “Have you had
crêpes
from a street vendor yet?”

“Eric and I had some at a restaurant by the Pantheon.”

Thomas shook his head in exaggerated disapproval. “
Mais non!
To experience
Paris
, you must have
crêpes
from a street vendor.”

Everyone was in agreement, so we left the museum and found a vendor. I ordered a Nutella
crêpe
, excited to watch the vendor make it fresh. When he handed me the parchment-wrapped dessert, I started to hand him a five euro bill, but Thomas intercepted and paid for it instead.

“I am privileged to buy your first street vendor
crêpes
,” he said with a bright smile.

I watched Camille out of the corner of my eye, worried she’d try to reinforce her Sophie ban, but she was totally engrossed with Dane.

Thank God for small favors.

After we all had our crêpes, we walked to
Esplanade Jacques Chaban-Delmas
, a nearby park, and sat in the grass. Thomas jostled Mathieu out of the way to sit by me. A dark look crossed over Mathieu’s face.

But Thomas looked pleased with himself when he turned and nudged my arm with his elbow. “You must try it.”

I took a bite and practically moaned. “Mmm. It’s very good.”

“See?” he said. “I am brilliant.”

I watched Thomas dig into his with gusto, finishing off his Nutella and banana
crêpe
in only a couple of minutes. He began to list the best
crêperies
in the city.

I was amazed at how different today was from yesterday. It was almost too good to be true. I was certain Thomas, Julien, Mathieu, and the others had been following Camille’s decree.
For the moment she had decided to be half human and let them interact with me. But I didn’t trust my stepsister. What would happen when she changed her mind again?

I decided to enjoy the moment and bask in the knowledge that a guy—a cute
Parisian
guy—was interested in
me
. Thomas was nice and thoughtful, and his light brown hair and hazel eyes were definitely appealing. I should have been interested, but I was hung up on someone else.

Someone who didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in me.

I cast a glance at Mathieu, but he was deep in conversation with Eric and Marine. Did I feel this way about him because of our first two encounters, or was it because he had let me use his mother’s piano? In the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem interested.

When we finished, we were close enough to walk back to our apartment. Thomas lived in the 1st Arrondissement, so he took the subway with Marine and her brother, who lived in the 16th.

Dane and Camille were still holding hands, but they trailed behind us so we weren’t forced to watch them fawn all over each other. Mathieu remained silent for several blocks before he said, “This is where I turn.” Then he waved and headed down the side street.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, but he was walking so fast he was already out of earshot.

“You have plans with Mathieu tomorrow?” Camille asked in surprise.

“Uh . . .” Oh jeez. I’d already screwed up. “I just figured he’d join us for whatever we end up doing tomorrow.”

“I have a dentist appointment tomorrow,” Camille said. “So we won’t be meeting them.”

“Oh.”

“That comic store looks cool,” Eric said, pointing across the street. “Did you see this store when you were exploring?”

“Uh . . . no. I headed the other way.”

I was worried he’d ask me more questions, but he lost interest, especially when Dane asked him something about taking their senior pictures when we got back home.

I had several hours before dinner, so I spent most of it working on the fingering for the
Warsaw Concerto
. I had gotten to the movement that contained a lot of crossover trills, so I spent a lot of time writing it down and then re-fingering it and making changes. I hoped to play the new parts at Mathieu’s the next morning.

Dad got home from work before Eva. She must have told him she’d be late because he was carrying a bag of groceries, with two loaves of French bread sticking out of the top. I looked up from the keyboard, and he caught my gaze.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He moved closer, standing next to me with a hopeful expression. “What did you do today?”

“We went to the Musée Rodin.”

“And . . .” he prompted.

“It was fun.”

He frowned, and I knew he was frustrated. Back home I would have told him all about it, but this uneasiness between us wasn’t going to change overnight. He was crazy if he thought it would.

A hopeful smile lit up his face. “I was thinking you and I could go out for ice cream after dinner. There’s a shop down the street that caters to tourists. It’s even better than Cold Stone.”

Part of my heart ached to spend time with him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to let him back in. After we went home at the end of the summer, I had no idea when we would see him again. But part of me ached to regain what we’d once had. I missed him.

“Okay,” I said with a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

It turned out we didn’t go anyway. Eva was late getting home from work, and it had been a bad, stressful day. Dad said he needed to stay with her, and it was obvious she needed him more than I did.

While I felt bad for Eva—some kind of international banking deal had fallen through—this was only further proof that I was not his priority.

I decided to go to bed around ten since I needed to get up early. Mathieu hadn’t set a specific time to meet in the morning, but I figured it wouldn’t change from today.

Camille came in soon after. I had purposely rolled onto my side, facing the wall. I’d spent the last week pretending I was asleep when she came into the room. It was better than having to deal with her. Most nights she fell for it, but tonight she climbed under the covers and waited a few moments before saying, “I’m being nice to you for
the moment
.”

The word
moment
hung out there like a big smelly turd I couldn’t ignore. I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. “What exactly are you saying, Camille?”

“I’m saying that for now it serves my purpose to treat you well. But the moment that stops, it will all change.”

I had no doubt that it would all change sooner rather than later.

THE NEXT MORNING
, Mathieu was waiting for me. His backpack was hanging open on his left shoulder, and he held a cup of coffee in each hand. He gave me a warm smile and handed me one of the cups.

My brows lifted in surprise. “Thank you.”

“Did you eat?”

I gave him a sheepish grin. “No, but—”

He pulled a pastry bag out of his backpack and handed it to me. “Try this.”

I opened it and peered inside. It was the pastry he’d had the day before, and a heavenly smell wafted up to my nose. “Mmm . . . what is it?”

“It’s a
Paris-Brest
.”

I laughed. “
Excuse me?
”

His face turned an adorable shade of pink. “Brest is the name of a French city.”

“Oh . . .” That made sense, although it
was
round and shaped like a . . . I chose to ignore that part. “It looks delicious.” I took a bite of the flaky pastry and cream filling and nearly groaned. “Are you trying to get me fat?” Each bite had to be packed with several hundred calories.

He looked confused. “You don’t like it?”

I laughed and took another bite. “I love it. Thank you.”

He pulled out one for himself and we walked for a block in silence, both of us concentrating on our breakfast.

“So your mother teaches piano,” I said. “What does your father do?”

“My father drives a taxi.”

I stared at him in shock. “They can afford that apartment on the salaries of a teacher and a cab driver?” As soon as the words flew out, I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. Can you please forget I asked that?” I considered running back to my apartment and hiding under my pillow.

He grinned. “It’s a fair question. But my father doesn’t live in the apartment. It’s my stepfather’s.”

“Oh.”

His smile softened to understanding. “So I kind of know what you’re going through.”

“Oh,” I said again. Could I get any more brilliant? “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Then he shrugged. “Well, I kind of am.” He turned to look at me. “My parents, they fought all the time. It was bad.” He paused. “They married too young, before my mother . . .”

Before his mother
what
?

But he didn’t finish the thought. “My mother is better with my stepfather. But me, not so much.”

I cringed. “How long have they been married?”

“Ten years.”

I studied his face. “And you don’t get along?”

“No.” He took a bite of his pastry. I suspected it was a ploy to keep from answering more questions, so he surprised me when he said, “But I was an only child, and now I have a brother. A stepbrother. That is good.”

“So you two get along?”

“We do now.” He grinned. “But not at first. He’s two years younger than me. To him, it was
his
house and I just moved in.” He shrugged. “It was rough, but now we’re friends.”

“Is this your not-so-subtle attempt to make me think Camille and I will be good friends someday? If so, sell it somewhere else.”

Confusion clouded his eyes. “Sell what?”

I laughed. “Never mind. It’s never going to happen. Camille and I will
never
be friends.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve been in your situation. I know how you feel. And now I understand how Etienne felt. Maybe you should try to understand Camille’s feelings.”

I stopped walking. He took several steps before turning around to see why I’d stopped.

I gaped at him. “She put you up to this.”

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“She told you to say that.”

His eyes widened. “Why would she do that?”

“Last night she told me she’d be nice as long as it served a purpose for her. Maybe this is part of it.”

“She said that?”

I nodded, lowering my coffee cup to my side.

He seemed to think about it for a few seconds before he said, “Camille did not tell me to say anything.”

“Are you sure about that? She told all of you to ignore me and be mean to me, didn’t she?”

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

I sighed. “I’d love to give Camille a chance, but she’s bound and determined to make my life as difficult as possible. It goes both ways, Mathieu.”

We continued on to his apartment, but our good mood was ruined.

As soon as he brought me to the piano, I pulled my sheet music out of my bag. I was determined to play the
Warsaw Concerto
today. Mathieu lifted the lid, so I sat on the bench, lifted the fall, and began my scales. I lost myself in the piano again, working my
way entirely through the piece multiple times, even if I had to stop and slowly work out more sections than I would have liked.

Just like the day before, it didn’t seem like any time had passed at all when Mathieu appeared at the piano. I stopped playing. “Has it been two hours already?”

He nodded, his face expressionless. “You seemed focused again.”

I needed to bring my phone and set an alarm. “Thanks.” I lowered the fall and looked down at my lap. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

He started to say something, then reconsidered. “I understand why you would feel that way.”

That was it. No explanation. But I reminded myself that Camille was his friend first. I’d be leaving in little more than six weeks and she’d still be here. It was selfish and unfair for me to ask him to choose between us.

I stood, and he grabbed his backpack.

“You don’t have to walk with me, Mathieu.”

“I’m headed that way anyway.”

We started our walk in silence, but it started to bother me by the end of the first block. “Have you always lived in Paris?” I asked.

His lips tipped up in a grin and he cast a glance in my direction. “
Oui.
Where do you live?”

“Charleston, South Carolina, but I haven’t always lived there. We lived in Virginia first, and before that in the Northeast. In Boston. I don’t remember living up there much. Only that it was cold and snowy in the winter. I like the South much better.” I pressed my lips closed. I tended to ramble when I was nervous.