One Paris Summer (Blink) (6 page)

He slipped off his backpack, unzipped it, and started to dig around inside. “Are you lost?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

The kindness and worry in his voice caught me by surprise.

He handed me a tissue, and I reluctantly took it.

“It’s clean,” he said, and a smile spread across his face, lighting up his spectacular eyes.

I dabbed my face, realizing two things. One, this French guy was impossibly cute, and two, I was an ugly crier.

It really wasn’t my day.

“Define lost,” I said, then realized the context was probably lost on him. “No, I’m not lost. My father and brother are inside.”

He closed his backpack and slipped it back over his shoulder. “But you are outside crying.”

“Yeah. I’m having a bad day.” I shook my head and laughed. “Make that a bad year.”

“Then let us hope your year gets better after now.”

I looked into his eyes and smiled at his slightly twisted English. For the first time since I’d gotten off the plane, I felt like I might not hate
everything
about this trip. “Yeah. Let’s hope so.”

His smile seemed to set loose a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. There was no better way to describe it.

“Are you here on holiday?”

Even the reminder of why I was really here couldn’t steal my sudden joy. “Kind of.”

A phone dinged, and he pulled his out of his front jeans pocket to check the screen. His grin faded. “I must go.”

“Oh.”

His phone rang this time and he answered, irritation wrinkling his forehead. He responded to the person on the other line in terse French. After he hung up, he gave me an apologetic look and started to speak, but the restaurant door flew open and Eric stomped out.

Why did Paris seem to breed so much irritation? Maybe it was something in the water, like fluoride.

“Dad’s flipping out,” Eric moaned. “He thought you took off.” He grabbed my arm and tugged.

I jerked loose. “Like I could. I don’t have any money, and I don’t even freaking know where he lives.”

The French guy backed up several feet, looking torn.

I turned to Eric as he said, “You need to come back inside
now
.”

“I will in a minute. First I need to talk to—” But when I glanced to the spot where the French guy had been standing, he was gone.

Leave it to my dad to steal this too.

DAD APOLOGIZED FOR
my having to sit at the opposite end of the table. Camille had taken my sudden departure as her own cue to bolt, so Eva insisted I sit by them for the rest of the night. Probably to make sure I didn’t escape again.

We went back to Eva’s apartment, but all four of us were subdued. It had to suck for Dad and Eva to spend their wedding night with two unhappy teenagers—and a third who had run off to heaven knew where. But they were the ones who had chosen to have a rush wedding.

I had a hard time falling asleep in my new bed, but was selfishly thankful Camille never came home. With any luck at all, she’d be gone the rest of the summer.

But I should have known luck wouldn’t be on my side. She was back the next morning, as sullen as ever. And I thought
I
was being dramatic. Which I was by lunchtime. Whenever I was stressed, I played the piano. In some ways, my father could be credited for the tremendous progress I’d made over the last year. But I was more stressed than ever, and now I had no outlet.

My not-so-gentle request slipped out minutes after we sat down for lunch in the dining room. “When will I be able to play a piano?”

“
Piano
?” Camille spat out like she’d eaten a rotten potato, dropping her fork with a clang.

Eva murmured something in French—her tone suggested it was a warning. My new stepmother turned to me with a soft but tired smile. “Your father says you are quite good and want to study music at uni.” She cast a pointed glance at Camille.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we must get you a piano to practice. We will see to it tomorrow.”

Camille bolted to a standing position, her chair screeching across the parquet floor, speaking in a stream of rapid French.

Eva’s eyes narrowed, and her responses sounded just as angry.

My gaze shot to Eric, who was watching the entire scene in wide-eyed silence as Camille turned and left the room and then the apartment, slamming the front door on her way out.

My new stepsister had a love of slamming doors.

Eva took a deep breath, but her eyes were filled with tears. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.” She forced a soft smile and focused on her plate. Then she rose from her seat. “The car will arrive soon to take us to the airport to pick up Eric’s friend.”

My father stood and took her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes closed. “Eric and I can do it. You stay and get some rest.”

“Merci,” she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek.

Guilt oozed in, catching me by surprise. Despite everything, I didn’t want to upset Eva. If she had been a friend’s mother, I would have instantly loved her. But it wasn’t like I was some spoiled kid insisting on a pony. I couldn’t go all summer without practice if I wanted to get that scholarship.

Confused by my conflicting emotions, I picked up my plate and Camille’s and took them to the kitchen. I had just turned on the sink to rinse them when Eric came in with the rest of the dishes. Neither of us said anything, but I could tell he was unsettled too. He never volunteered to help clean up at home.

After Dad and Eric left, I swallowed my rising excitement and nervousness about Dane’s impending arrival and hid in my room. I tried to Skype my mom on my laptop, but my timing
was off and she was on her way to work. We talked for a few minutes, and I lied through my teeth and told her everything was great. I wanted to tell her the truth—I’d intended to—but the worry in her eyes stopped me. She’d been happy, especially over the last six months, then even more so when she started dating Mark back in April. She’d moved on, and obviously so had Dad. So why couldn’t I?

The night before I’d left to come to Paris, she’d come into my room and told me I didn’t have to be mad at my dad on her account. That she liked her new life. I had planned to ask her if Eric was right and she really had sent us here so she could go to the beach with her boyfriend, but I chickened out. I couldn’t deal with any more drama.

A couple hours later, I heard voices in the hallway and left my room to investigate. Dane was sitting on one sofa with Eric, and Dad and Eva sat on the one across from it.

Dane’s face popped up when I entered the room, and a smile spread across his face. “Hey, Sophie.”

My insides did a little dance. Maybe Jenna was right. Maybe I stood a shot with him after all. Back home he never would have smiled at me like that, let alone said hello.

I sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and watched him as he answered Eva’s questions. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he talked. The cowlick on the right side of his forehead that pushed his dark blond hair away from his face while the rest fell forward. How his gray eyes brightened when my father started talking about his job and what he was doing.

Eric caught me staring at his friend, and his eyes narrowed in warning. He knew about my secret crush, but Dane barely gave me the time of day at home.

Camille came home well after dinner, when I was getting ready to go to bed. I heard her and her mother murmuring in
French before she came into our room. I was already in bed, strategically facing the wall so I wouldn’t have to look at her. It was nearly ten o’clock—early for me. I was still jet lagged, but the sun hadn’t set, which felt weird.

“I know you’re awake,” Camille said in a low tone that held no friendliness. “My mother can insist you share this room with me, but you are
not
my sister. I don’t even
like
you.”

I rolled over and sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. “I never claimed to be your sister.” And I was fairly certain liking your sibling wasn’t a requirement. At home, Eric and I were often proof enough of that.

She tilted her head, her dark eyes blazing. “If I could figure out a way to make you go away, I’d do it.”

I didn’t expect her to be my new best friend, particularly after her not-so-welcoming greeting the other day, but I couldn’t understand her hostility. I hadn’t asked for this either. “I’m sure it’s not that easy to dispose of a body when you don’t have a car.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

She looked puzzled for a moment, then she scowled and turned away from me.

I was a little afraid to go to sleep. While I doubted she’d murder me in cold blood, I could think of a whole list of other possible offenses. I finally drifted off, only to be roused by Eric’s irritated voice.

“Are you coming or not?” Eric stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder into the frame.

I sat up, still groggy. “What?”

“Notre Dame. Remember?”

Now I was awake. Eric, Dane, and I had made plans to see the Notre Dame cathedral today, and I was actually excited to see a little more of Paris. Oh, and my wicked stepsister was coming too. “You said you would wake me an hour before it was time to go!”

“Camille said she woke you. Did you go back to sleep? We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

That witch.

I jumped out of bed. “Give me fifteen.”

“Camille says you only have ten. We’re meeting her friends.”

Crap.
“Fine.” How was I supposed to dress to impress Dane in only ten minutes? But that was probably her plan. Maybe she was hoping for an excuse to leave me behind. Not a chance.

I was ready in nine minutes, and I looked surprisingly good given my stingy time allotment. My long dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and I was wearing a pair of white capris, a pale blue cotton blouse, and white sandals. I stuffed a hundred American dollars into my pocket, hoping we could stop by a bank and exchange it. I also took my phone. I couldn’t use it to text or call, but the camera still worked.

Camille and the guys were waiting in the entryway.

“Finally,” Eric grunted.

Dane gave me a teasing smile. “Soph was just getting her beauty sleep.”

To my utter embarrassment, my face warmed, and I looked away from him. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, but of course Camille did.

She broke out into a smile, her eyebrows lifting. “Let’s go see Paris. I’m ready to have a wonderful day.”

Somehow it sounded like a warning.

I LOST INTEREST
in Notre Dame after about ten minutes. I had never been in a seven-hundred-year-old church before, and it was certainly impressive. But it wasn’t too different from many of the projects my father had worked on—only on a larger scale. Maybe I would have loved it more if it hadn’t been so crowded. The throngs of people made it difficult to see anything.

But to be fair, Notre Dame didn’t stand a chance against the beauty of Dane Wallace. I seriously could not believe my luck. Like me, Eric was only mildly interested in the cathedral, and I was sure Camille had seen it a million times before. Poor Dane needed someone to share his excitement, so I gave him my full attention, not necessarily a difficult task.

“Did you know Notre Dame was the first building to use flying buttresses?” he asked, looking at the stone structures over our heads.

“Really?” Dad had told us that once, back when I was in grade school and he was working on some church in Virginia. I was still Daddy’s little girl back then, scooping up his every word and committing it to memory.

I couldn’t believe Dane was actually talking to me—Sophie Brooks, Eric’s little sister. But Camille soon took over the conversation, pointing out little details Dane didn’t know, like the fact that French revolutionaries had replaced a statue of the Virgin Mary with Lady Liberty and beheaded the statues of biblical kings after mistakenly assuming they were statues of the kings of France.

Soon he was hanging on her every word. We squeezed between a family with three young children, and Camille glanced over her shoulder to give me a triumphant smile. She wasn’t even interested in Dane. But she knew
I
was.