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.

His grin spread. “You like living in Charleston?”

“Yeah. It’s a beautiful city. I like that it all looks so old. And my best friend lives there. Jenna.” I glanced at him. “Is Thomas your closest friend?”

His smile faded. “Yeah.”

His reaction was odd, but he was sullen enough I didn’t want to press for more.

“So what do you do for fun in Charleston?”

I laughed. “We don’t go to museums.”

He laughed too. “We don’t either. Although I am not complaining.”

The look he gave me suggested I might be part of the reason he wasn’t complaining, but his behavior the day before seemed to contradict that. Maybe I was imagining things. “So what do you do?” he repeated.

“Jenna has a swimming pool, so we hang out there a lot. I was supposed to babysit for my neighbor’s kids this summer, but I had to give it up to come here. Eric had to give up his job at the golf course too.”

He looked at me in wonder. “You have jobs?”

“Most teenagers do. It’s how we pay for our cars and gas and for things like going to the movies and out to dinner. You don’t have a job?”

“It’s not allowed. There aren’t enough jobs, so they can’t give them to teenagers. And we can’t drive until we’re eighteen, either, not that most people in Paris have cars.”

He asked more questions about my life in Charleston, and before I knew it, we were standing in front of my dad’s apartment building.

He paused and looked at me. “Do you want to play tomorrow?”

I stared up into his deep blue eyes. “Why are you doing this? It’s a huge inconvenience for you, and Camille will be pissed if she finds out. Why are you risking it?”

His chest rose as he took a deep breath. “Because it makes you happy.” Then he walked away.

What did that mean?

I spent the rest of the day obsessing over it. Why would Mathieu care about me being happy? Could he feel the same way about me that I felt about him? Shoot, I didn’t even understand how I felt about him.

Only one person could help me sort this out.

I sent Jenna a message asking if she had time to talk to me after Camille left for her dentist appointment at two fifteen. I didn’t dare risk discussing it while she was home. It was enough of a risk that Dane or Eric might hear me.

She messaged me back close to two—eight a.m. her time—saying she could talk for about ten minutes at two thirty.

That would have to do.

“Spill it!” Jenna said as soon I answered the video-call. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her laptop must have been propped up on her pillow, because it was level with her chest and not her waist. “Is this about Dane? Did he finally come to his senses?”

“No. Someone else.”

“Mathew?”

“Not Mathew. Matt–yue.”

She giggled. “Is it a name or a sneeze?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s French,” I said, as if that explained everything.

She nodded. “So you like him?”

“Yes. No.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. He has a piano and he’s been letting me play it. Jen—it’s a Steinway!”

“So he’s started off by giving you expensive gifts. Check.”

I laughed. “He didn’t give it to me. He’s just letting me play it.”

“Same thing. So he likes you.” An excited gleam filled her eyes.

“I don’t know. That’s the confusing part. He shows up outside my apartment building and walks me the six blocks to his place. Then he walks me home after I finish. Both mornings he’s even gotten me breakfast from the pâtisserie across the street—cappuccino and a pastry—but once we’re in his apartment, he walks away and leaves me alone.”

She gave me a reprimanding look. “Have you ever seen yourself when you’re practicing? You have a distinct leave me alone vibe.” I started to say something, but she just laughed. “Don’t even deny it. I’ve seen it a million times. Sounds like he’s smart. So he’s cute, smart, and he gives you things.” A huge grin spread across her face. “He likes you.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I grumbled. “We talk all the way back to my apartment building, but he practically ignores me whenever we’re in a group with my stepsister. And he doesn’t want me to tell her I’m going to his apartment.”

“Oh.” She looked taken aback. “So he’s asking you to lie.”

My stomach began to churn. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, and began to rub a section of her comforter between her thumb and index finger. “So maybe . . .” I could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. She obviously wasn’t ready to give up on Mathieu yet. “You said Camille’s friends haven’t been nice. Maybe he’s testing the waters. He’s seeing if there’s some spark or chemistry between you two before he risks getting into trouble with Camille.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Camille seems to have lifted her Sophie ban. Their friend Thomas was really nice to me when I got freaked out in the catacombs. Then he hung out with me at the museum and park yesterday. He even bought me a crêpe when he found out I hadn’t had one from a street vendor yet.”

“You better be working out,” she teased. “With all these boys buying you pastries, you’re gonna put on five pounds. So tell me about Thomas.”

My face began to burn. “He’s cute.”

“And he’s obviously nice if he bought you a crêpe.”

“And he’s fun.” I told her about posing for the silly photos at Musée Rodin. “And Mathieu joined in, but only after Thomas convinced him.”

“And how did Her Majesty react to that?”

I released an exaggerated sigh. “She hardly noticed. She was too busy holding Dane’s hand and then mimicking the statue of two lovers in a passionate embrace.”

Her eyes flew open, and she screamed, “What?” I heard a mumble off-screen, and then Jenna grimaced and called over the laptop screen, “Sorry, Mom!” She immediately returned her attention back to me. “You’re just now getting to this part? Spill!”

It was time to dash her illusions. “Dane’s a total jerk, Jenna. Like monumental. Even Eric seems fed up with him.”

“What happened? Tell me everything.”

I told her about how Dane had teamed up with my stepsister to torment me.

She shook her head, and her eyes glazed over. “I don’t believe it. I mean . . . I knew he had his moments, but let’s be honest, most teenage guys do.”

“I know.”

“Well, it’s obvious Thomas likes you.”

“You think so?” I kind of hoped so, which was so many ways of wrong. Especially when I preferred Mathieu.

“So, Thomas . . .” she said, her eyes twinkling. “What do you think about him?”

I grinned. “I’m impressed you got the pronunciation right so quickly. Two-ma. They pronounce names so differently here.”

“I only know what you tell me. And besides, if French is like Spanish, I suspect it’s spelled the same way Thomas is.”

That blew my mind. How was I ever going to figure out how to say anything here?

I settled back on the pillows on my bed and put my laptop on my stomach. “I wish you were here.”

“Only three more weeks.”

“As a token of how much I love you, I haven’t started shopping yet.”

“What?”

“I’m waiting to go with you.”

She tilted her head and gave me a sweet smile. “Aw . . . but that still doesn’t distract me from asking about Thomas.”

I laughed and sat up straighter. “He’s really nice. And funny.”

“I think we’ve established that.”

“I like him . . . but . . .”

A sad look filled her eyes. “But you like Mathieu more.”

“I don’t know . . . maybe.”

“Oh, Soph, have you noticed that over the last year you always pick the guys who aren’t available?”

My breath caught in my chest. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she said softly, “that you crush on guys who are with another girl or ones who don’t even know you exist. Maybe it’s like that with Mathieu. It’s safer that way. Nothing to risk, which seems to be your M.O.”

Part of me wanted to argue with her, but I couldn’t help wondering if she had a point.

“I can make a list of examples if you’d like. Austin Carmichael had a girlfriend. Trevor Honeywell is a football player only interested in cheerleaders. Even Dane . . .”

I groaned and then laughed. “Stop. I get it.”

“All I’m saying is maybe you should give the guys who do want to get to know you a chance.”

“Okay. I’ll give it some thought.” I grinned. “Now hurry up and get here. Then you can see it all for yourself.”

She released an exaggerated groan. “Speaking of which, I’m babysitting the terror twins again today, which means I’ve gotta go.” She grinned. “The things I do so I can go to Paris . . .”

“Thanks, Jenna.”

“Anytime. That’s what besties are for.”