THE NEXT MORNING I stopped and knocked at Eric’s partially open bedroom door. He’d had the apartment key last, and I couldn’t get back in if I didn’t have the fob for the electronic lock on the front door. I could have pressed the buzzer outside, but with my luck, Eric wouldn’t hear it and Camille and Dane would leave me out on the street.

But Dane opened the door, wearing a pair of shorts, no shirt, and a big grin, which fell slightly when he saw it was me. “I’m taken.”

I blinked, sure I’d misunderstood. “Well, good for you,” I finally said. “I hope you two are happy together. Lord knows it’s a match made in heaven.”

“Because we’re both so good-looking?”

Oh my God! How had I ever liked this fool? “Yeah. That. Tell Eric I need the key.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re blocking the doorway.”

“No. Why do you need it?”

“That’s none of your business. Now tell Eric I need the key.”

Dane came out of the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re practically scared of your own shadow. I can’t believe you’re leaving the apartment all by yourself. Where are you going every day for hours?”

“I said it’s none of your business.”

I tried to push around him, but he grabbed my wrists and pulled me against his chest. “I want to make it my business.”

I gaped at him.

“I know you like me, Sophie,” he said, grinning, “and I might be with Camille now, but you and me can hook up when we get back home.”

Before I could react, an outburst of French broke out behind me. I took advantage of Dane’s surprise to pull loose.

“What are you doing with my boyfriend?” Camille demanded.

I spun around to face her. “Are you kidding me? He was the one manhandling me!” I shook my head in frustration. My truce with Camille had been fragile to begin with, but this was sure to smash it to bits. “As Dane pointed out, you two are perfect for each other. You can have him.”

As I stomped toward the piano, I realized I had another issue. I couldn’t take my music without both of them noticing. Great. Now it would be a wasted morning of practice. Especially since I was letting the Warsaw Concerto sit while I was learning the much more difficult Rachmaninoff Prelude in B Minor Op. 32 No. 10. I’d barely played it all the way through a few times—and quite badly at that. I certainly hadn’t had time to memorize more than a few stanzas here and there.

So now I didn’t have a key and I didn’t have my music, and I was also running late. I opened the front door and started to stomp out when I heard Eric shout, “What is going on out there?”

“Nothing.” I slammed the door shut behind me and suddenly appreciated why it was one of Camille’s favorite activities.

I’d made it down one flight of stairs when I heard Eric’s voice over my head. “Sophie! Where are you going?”

“Out!”

“Wait up and I’ll come with you!”

I stopped and looked up at him. “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I don’t need you to come.” If he found out the truth, Mathieu might cancel our arrangement.

“At least take the key.” He dropped the lanyard through the opening in the spiral staircase, and I was proud of myself for catching it.

“Thanks.” I started back down.

“Soph.” I stopped and looked up at him. “I’m sorry about Dane.”

I nodded and gave him a tight smile. “Thanks for that too.”

Mathieu was waiting outside the front door. He took one look at me and his eyes widened. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bad morning.” I started to rub my burning right wrist, which still hurt from Dane’s grasp.

Mathieu’s eyes darkened. He grabbed my arm and looked at the red marks. Then he grabbed my left hand and found lighter pink finger marks there. “Who did this?”

His fingers were gentle even if he looked angry, and something fluttered through me, catching my breath in my throat. But if I told him it was Dane, what would he do? Would he confront him? Then Camille would find out about our secret meetings, and I might not be able to practice at his apartment anymore. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, I suspected Dane was about to get an earful from my brother.

“Sophie.” His eyes lifted to mine, and I lost my breath for an entirely new reason. He was probably the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen. His cerulean blue eyes darkened with anger and concern for me, his mouth pinched tight. I felt a sudden urge to pull my hand loose from his hold and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. It occurred to me that my wrists had been firmly held by two different guys in a matter of minutes, but the experiences were so vastly different, I could only marvel at it.

“Who hurt you?”

I blinked, coming out of my stupor. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing. This is going to leave a mark.”

“It was a misunderstanding.” I gave a soft tug and he dropped his hold, making me sorry I’d pulled free. I looked around and forced a grin. “No breakfast today?”

He watched me, probably trying to decide if he was going to pursue the issue. Finally, his shoulders relaxed. “No. I thought we could try a different pâtisserie today.”

“Okay.” I started walking down the sidewalk. “Did you go out with Camille last night?” I’d spent the last hour debating whether to ask him. I hated to bring up my stepsister, but I was curious if he went to clubs, if he danced, if . . . Okay, I was curious to know anything I could find out about him.

“Yes.”

Seriously? Was that all he planned on giving me?

He looked down at me, his expression neutral. “Camille said you and Eric were spending time with your father.”

“I’m surprised she volunteered the information.”

He frowned. “Thomas asked.”

Thomas? It was nice to know that a cute guy was interested in me, but despite what Jenna had said, he just didn’t give me any butterflies. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I playfully grinned up at Mathieu. “You didn’t ask?”

His gaze held mine. “Thomas beat me to it.”

Oh . . . there were the butterflies, a thousand of them flapping around in my stomach, jostling for space.

I broke his gaze and looked straight ahead. “Do you like to go to clubs?”

“It depends on my mood.”

“You felt like going last night?” I snuck a glance up at him.

“Only because I hoped you would be there.”

I forced myself to breathe normally.

“Here it is.” He pointed to a shop across the street from the corner where we usually turned.

We crossed the street and stood at the end of a small line. I tried to peer around the people to look at the counter. “What do you suggest?”

He gave me a blank look.

“Here.” I pointed my thumb inside. “What do you like here?”

Understanding washed over his face, and his cheeks turned a light pink. “I love their croissants.”

I grinned up at him. “Croissants?” I pronounced it the French way, trying to roll the R like he did and leaving off the T and the S.

His face lit up. “Your French is good when you try.”

“Really? I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t sound ridiculous. Would you like to learn more?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this some kind of trick?” I teased. “Are you going to teach me how to say I smell like farts or something disgusting like that?”

He burst into laughter. “No,” he said. “Not unless you want me to.”

“I know the names of three French pastries now. At least I won’t starve.”

His smile lit up his eyes. “Then you can learn more useful things, although it is pretty useful to know the names of pastries.”

I sucked in an exaggerated breath and pushed it out. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“J’ai faim.”

I repeated the phrase. “What did I just say?”

“I am hungry.”

“J’ai faim,” I said again, then turned to the woman in front of me in line. “J’ai faim.”

She gave me a strange look, then mumbled something in French and turned her back to me.

“What did she say?”

“She said she thinks you must be so hungry that you have lost your mind.”

I grinned, shocked I wasn’t embarrassed. I would have been at home, but for some reason, here with Mathieu, I felt lighter and less anxious.

“That was very good.” He smiled his approval as we moved closer to the counter. “Try this one: Où sont les toilettes?”

I repeated the phrase, then asked, “Did I just ask where the bathroom is?”

“Très bien. You can translate as well. Now repeat it.”

“Où sont les toilettes? You know the trick is remembering it, right?”

“Pratique-tu.” His gaze held mine. “Now say, Je suis très jolie.”

“Je suis très jolie. What did I just say?”

He smiled, and there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “You spoke the truth.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“You figured out Où sont les toilettes. You can figure out the other.”

Jolie sounded like jolly. Had he just told me I was happy?

We stepped up to the counter, and he leaned into my ear. “You are going to order.”

I looked up at him. “A croissant?”

“Yes, but no pointing at all. You will say it all in French.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes. You can.”

The employee approached us, and my heart thudded against my ribs. I tried to figure out why I was so nervous. I talked to the woman in line. Why was this so hard? But I wanted to order in French. I needed to do it. “Okay.”

“Est-ce que je peux avoir deux croissant, s’il vous plaît?” he murmured in my ear. When I hesitated, he said, “You can do it.”

I took a deep breath, then tried to repeat the phrase. I mangled the first part, but managed je peux avoir deux croissant, s’il vous plaît.

The woman nodded and tucked two croissants inside a pastry bag. “Did I order two?” I asked him, worried I’d gotten it wrong.

“Yes. Deux is two,” he said as she put the bag on the counter. “Now say Est-ce que je peux avoir deux cappuccino, s’il vous plaît.”

I repeated the phrase, saying the first part better this time. Another employee started to make the drinks, and I was fairly sure she also told me the price because I heard the word euro and Mathieu handed her a ten euro bill.

When we took the bags and our coffees and left the shop, Mathieu said, “Très bien, Sophie. Very good.”

“Merci.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I knew that one already.” Then a huge smile spread across my face. I had ordered in French!

“You’ll be fluent in no time.”

My new teacher was definitely a motivating factor.