One Paris Summer (Blink) (31 page)

“And the Chopin etude?” I asked. “It’s brand new.”

“I think you’ll be fine with it. It’s a lesser-used piece for auditions, which is in your favor. It’s the sonata that will be the make-it-or-break-it selection. You have a lot of ground to cover to make the entire nineteen minutes sound uniform. I read the information you forwarded. You’re fortunate that you don’t have to memorize it.”

I took a deep breath, my nerves getting the better of me.

“You’re going to do very well, Sophie. I must admit, while it would be quite a feather in my cap to have one of my students accepted to
Conservatoire de Seine
, I would be sad to lose you.”

I shook my head with a wry grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it all I’ve got, but I have no expectation of getting in.”

“You’ll do very well. I’m very, very proud of you, Sophie, whether you make it or not.” She sniffed and then smiled. “Work on filling out the packet, and ask me if you have any questions. I’ll email you my letter of recommendation.”

“Thank you.”

Etienne still wasn’t back when I finished my call, so I texted Eric and told him I was going to head to the music store before I went home. He ended up going with me. Camille and Dane were giving him the cold shoulder, so he was eager to leave the apartment and go to the Latin Quarter.

I practiced the Chopin etude on the keyboard after dinner that night, so I felt ready to tackle it with the real piano the next morning.

Etienne let me in again, but took off as soon as I entered the apartment. He’d obviously been waiting for me. While I felt bad about detaining him, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him he didn’t have to let me in anymore. Now that I’d decided to audition, I needed all the practice I could get, which included practicing on a real piano. I decided to text Mathieu later to work something out with him.

I divided my five hours in parts—the first two hours were devoted to the Chopin etude and the second two hours to the sonata. At the end I played the Rachmaninoff piece twice and worked on more of the etude. When I finished, I sat back on the bench and took several deep breaths, trying to reassure myself that I could do this. That this wasn’t insane.

“That was beautiful, Sophie,” Mathieu said from behind me.

I stood and spun around to face him. “Oh. You’re here.”

He sat in a leather chair, his eyes locked on mine. I had a hard time reading his expression. It seemed guarded, yet . . . hopeful.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to realize you’re learning something new. You’ve picked it up very quickly.”

“No.” I looked down and blushed. “I learned it last year, but I didn’t learn it for any type of competition. Miss Lori told me to attack it like it was a new piece.” I shrugged and gave him a grin. “So I’m trying to make the interpretation new and pretending I just happen to be good enough to know most of the fingering.”

His mouth tipped up into a small smile. “So you’ve picked your pieces?”

“I think so.”

“Would you like my mother to look them over? Give you some advice?”

I shook my head. “That feels like cheating.”

He looked down at that, his cheeks red.

I stood and slung my bag over my head. “I should probably go.” I wanted to talk to him. But my heart broke all over again each time I looked into his deep blue eyes. I didn’t think we could be just friends. Being so close to him made me want more. I started for the door. “I’ve got to go.”

He jumped to his feet. “Sophie.”

I paused, my chest tight. It was taking everything in me to walk away. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to leave if he kept me there much longer.

“My mother has tickets to a concert at
Sainte-Chapelle
tonight. A pianist is performing a Beethoven sonata at eight thirty. Would you like to go?”

I ran my hand over my head, fighting the urge to cry. The guy who had broken my heart wanted to give me tickets to attend a concert at the very place that had stolen my father from me. Was this some cosmic joke? “I don’t know who would go with me.”

“No,” he said softly. “I want you to come
with me
.”

I refused to look at him. I couldn’t do this again. “You want me to sneak out?”

“
Non
, Sophie. I want to come to Camille’s apartment—not the door on the street—to collect you and take you with me.”

My mouth dropped open as I turned to face him. “Is this because I’ve decided to audition?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, it’s because I don’t want to miss another minute with you.” He paused, his hand twitching at his side. “Will you go to the concert with me? Please?”

This was too good to be true. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

His face scrunched in confusion. “The concert is today.”

“No, a
date
. You know . . . where you go out with someone.”

Understanding lit up his eyes. “Oh. We have no word for date.”

“What? How can
that
be? How do you get to know someone?”

“We go out with a group of friends.”

“Oh.”

He moved closer and stopped a couple of feet in front of me. “And in France, once you kiss someone, they are your boyfriend or girlfriend.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly. “I know you Americans date multiple people at one time, but in France you are only with one person.”

The meaning of his words hit me. Exclusive.

“I’ll go with you, but no more hiding, Mathieu.”

He lowered his voice. “In France, this isn’t so wrong. It’s not unusual for a couple to see each other and keep it from their friends.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Only one of us is French. The American part of us doesn’t want to hide it from anyone.”

A soft smile lit up his face. “The French part doesn’t want to hide it either.”

“Really?”

His smile spread. “Really.” He looked down and shifted his weight. “Is Eric coming to get you today?”

“No. I was going to walk back alone.”

“May I walk with you?”

“Uh . . . sure.”

He followed me out the door and down the steps, and by the time we’d made it to the sidewalk, I felt incredibly awkward. “Did you have a good Bastille Day?” I asked.

“
Oui.
” His tone suggested it wasn’t true, but he didn’t offer any more information. I didn’t ask.

“My friend Jenna is coming on Sunday.”

“I cannot wait to meet your friend Jenna. Tell me more about her.”

And just like that, the awkwardness fell away as I told him stories about my best friend of five years, several of which had him laughing. Before I knew it, we were at my door.

“What time will you pick me up?” I asked, suddenly nervous. This would be my first real date, even if Mathieu had claimed the French didn’t date.

“Nineteen thirty.” Then he laughed at my confused look. “Seven thirty.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten the French used military time. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

He nodded, but didn’t move. I wondered if he was going to kiss me, and maybe he was considering it, but ultimately he took a couple of steps back. “I look forward to our evening.” He gave me a little wave, then turned around. I stayed at the front door, my hand on the knob, and watched as he walked to the corner. Then he turned to look at me, and his grin was so wide and happy, it made me smile too.

I TOLD MY
family about my plans for the evening while we ate dinner.

Eric was not happy. My father even less so. And Camille . . . unhappy was not how I’d describe her reaction. More like controlled fury. Dane seemed stunned, and he kept staring at me throughout the meal.

Eva exuded pure joy.

“William, calm down,” she murmured, patting my father’s arm. “Mathieu is a lovely boy.”

“And you’ve been going to his house every day?” he asked. “
For hours?
I didn’t even know you liked this boy.”

“He’s kissed her,” Eric said, glaring at me.

“Eric!” I shouted.

“You’ve kissed him?” Camille shouted. Her face was red and her eyes were wild.

Eva let out a long sigh and patted the air with her hands. “Everyone calm down.” She turned to Camille. “You and Mathieu were friends for years before you were together for a few weeks. It was never serious. You moved on, and Sophie had no way of knowing you and Mathieu used to be together. Isn’t that correct, Sophie?”

“I only recently found out.”

“See?” Eva said with a warm smile. “And you have Dane.”

Camille’s eyes filled with tears, and she started speaking in French. I heard Dane’s name, and then Camille stomped off to
her room. Dane looked irritated as he scooted back his chair, then followed her.

Eva looked at the rest of us and shook her head with a sigh. “Young love.”

But Camille’s tirade helped calm my dad and Eric. Eva convinced them that nothing was about to happen to me on the Metro or at my father’s place of employment.

My biggest problem was deciding what to wear. I had my sundress from the wedding, but Mathieu had already seen me in it. So I riffled through my suitcases, frustrated by my lack of choices. Going through the few clothes I had hanging in my brother’s closet confirmed it. I steeled myself as I went into my shared room to riffle through my suitcases again.

“He was my boyfriend first,” Camille said, her eyes red from crying.

I stood and turned around to face her. “I’m not trying to take him from you. He told me you two stopped seeing each other in May.”

“Does he know you kissed Thomas?” There was a hateful look in her eyes. “He’s very jealous, you know. He’ll hate you if he finds out.”

I had to admit the thought had occurred to me. But it wasn’t like I had invited Thomas to kiss me—quite the opposite. Still, I planned to tell him about it tonight so it was out in the open. I didn’t want to have to worry about Camille using it against me.

“Are you planning to tell Mathieu for me?” I asked. “Is that what you do? Blackmail people?” The blank look on her face made it obvious she didn’t understand. “I know you have something on Mathieu and you’re using it to get him to do whatever you want. Are you planning to go tell your mother now that you know we’re going out? You’d really ruin his chances of getting the internship next summer out of revenge?”

A blank looked filled her eyes at first, but then she began to laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

I sucked in a breath.

She laughed again. “Poor, stupid Sophie. You can have him.” She slid off her bed. “I hope the two of you are very happy together.” She left the room, and I heard her call Dane’s name. I was disturbed by what she’d said. Was there more to the story than what Mathieu had told me? I was going to get to the bottom of that as well.

But now I had to figure out what to wear. I pushed out a sigh as I held up a wrinkled pink blouse and a white eyelet skirt. This was the best I could do.

“Would you like to look in my closet? I have some things you might like,” Eva said, leaning against the doorway.

I glanced up at her. “Could I? I only have my dress from the wedding, and he saw me in it that day.”

“He did?”

I told her about how he had approached me outside of the restaurant.

“See?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes. “
Destinée.
”

I followed her into the room she shared with Dad. It was small, and the queen-size bed and a dresser filled up most of it. Eva walked around the edge of the bed and looked in her closet. “How about this?

She held up a sleeveless navy blue fit and flare cocktail dress. It was the kind of dress that was classic, timeless, very sophisticated . . . and undoubtedly very expensive.

“It’s classic but not formal,” Eva said, “So you won’t feel out of place, but you’ll still be stunning.” She held it up to my front. “Ah, yes. It brings out your eyes. Try it on.”

She handed it to me and shut the door, then sat down on the bed.

I realized she wanted me to try it on in front of her. I’d already figured out the French weren’t ashamed of their bodies, which wasn’t such a bad thing. Besides, I was wearing underwear and a bra. It was pretty much the same as wearing a swimsuit. I stripped and tossed my clothes on the bed, then slipped on the dress.

“
Belle!
” Eva hopped off the bed and dug at the bottom of her closet. “What size shoes?”

“Seven.”

Her head popped up, and she gave me a look of confusion before returning to her task. “Never mind.” She pulled out a pair of nude heels. “Try these.”

I sat on the bed and slipped them on and stood, thankful they fit.

Eva clasped her hands together and smiled. “Perfect. Look.” She pointed to a full-length mirror next to the closet. I stepped in front of it and gasped. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looked so much more mature than little Sophie Brooks from Charleston, South Carolina. I couldn’t believe it was me. The dress made my waist look smaller, and the hem hit several inches above my knee, which, paired with the heels, made my legs look longer.

Eva moved behind me. “If we put up your hair . . .” She gathered my hair and began to twist the strands, then held it up to the back of my head. “A little more makeup . . .” She looked at my reflection over my shoulder. “Would you like my help?”