ERIC WANTED TO walk me to Mathieu’s apartment, a phenomenon that baffled Dane.

“Dude, she’s been walking around the city for three days all alone,” Dane said, furiously tapping and waving his video game controller, his eyes glued to the TV screen. “Let her go.”

I moved closer to Eric, my eyes on his. “You have no say in this. Dad said he trusts me.”

“Dad doesn’t know all the facts.”

“Eric!” I snarled under my breath, my eye on my stepsister, who was watching us from across the room. I put my hands on my hips. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

Dane groaned. “Your stupid brother woke me up with his alarm, and I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

I grabbed my sheet music and stuffed it into my bag.

Eric followed. “If you’re not back by noon, I’m coming to find you.”

I leaned into his face and whispered, “What in the world has you so freaked out?”

His jaw set. “I don’t like that he was so secretive. I don’t care if he dated Camille or not. He’s trying to take advantage of the situation, and it’s much easier to do when no one else knows what’s going on.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s not a secret anymore, so calm down.” I stomped toward the door and he followed.

“You better be back by noon!” he yelled after me.

“I’ll be back by one!” I had no idea if I’d be gone that long. For all I knew, Mathieu liked our current schedule of me leaving after a couple of hours.

He was waiting for me outside the front door. “Since this isn’t a secret anymore, I thought I could meet you here,” he said, giving me a hesitant smile.

I nodded, suddenly nervous. “Thanks.”

We had started to walk the now familiar path when he asked, “Did you ask Eva to talk to my mother?”

I sucked in my breath and came to a halt, horrified he would think that. “No! It was my father’s doing. Well . . . and Eva’s, I guess. My brother told my dad to get me a real piano to play. Dad must have told Eva, and she remembered your mom.”

He nodded, looking like he believed me, thank God. I didn’t want him to think I was some manipulative stalker.

“You didn’t tell me your mother works at a conservatory.”

His eyebrows rose. “I told you she teaches piano.”

“That’s entirely different than teaching at a conservatory.”

He shrugged.

“Does she mind me playing her piano?”

“No. She likes Eva, so she was happy to do it for her.”

We started walking again. “Are you okay with this? Everyone knowing that I’m coming over to your house?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“What about Camille?”

“She can’t refuse our mothers.”

Of course, I had to remember that while we could be open about me going to his house to practice, we still couldn’t be together. I had to figure out a way to be okay with that. “Have you had breakfast?”

He beamed at me. “No.”

“How do you say ‘Are you hungry?’ ”

An ornery look filled his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

I bumped my arm into his. “In French.”

“I taught you this yesterday. You’ve already forgotten?”

“I know how to say I am hungry. I want to know how to ask you.”

“Est-ce que tu as faim?”

I repeated the phrase, then laughed. “I really hope I asked you if you were hungry and not if you’d like to buy my goats.”

He grinned. “Tu is a familiar you. Vous is formal. Faim is hunger.”

I cocked my head and gave him an ornery look. “You taught me tu. Does that mean we’re past formal status?”

He was still smiling, but his eyes darkened. “Yes.” His voice was husky.

I looked away, embarrassed that I’d pushed our boundaries. It was becoming harder and harder not to flirt with him, but there was no point in torturing both of us.

The line was shorter at the new pâtisserie today. I fumbled through ordering a croissant, a Paris-Brest for Mathieu, and two cappuccinos, then insisted on paying. “You’ve bought breakfast several days in a row. It’s my turn. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

“How long do you plan to play today?” he asked after we’d left the bakery and taken a bite of our food.

“I don’t know. At home I just play until I get frustrated or tired. Do you have somewhere to go today?”

“No, but since it is Friday, my friends are going to a club tonight.” He turned to me, a wary look in his eyes. “Are you going?”

“Oh . . .” I shrugged. “I’m usually added as an afterthought. You know that Camille would rather not have me there.”

“But you went to the cinema yesterday.”

My stomach fluttered. He’d asked if I was there. No, maybe not. Thomas or someone could have volunteered the information. “Camille said Thomas asked if I was coming.”

“Of course he did.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I didn’t.

“Where are you going tonight?” I asked.

“I never said I was going.” His brow furrowed and he looked utterly unhappy.

I knew the decent thing to do would be to feel sorry for him, but I couldn’t. After all, we were both suffering from the same frustration.

If that wasn’t messed up, I wasn’t sure what was.

When we entered his apartment, I pulled out my Rachmaninoff piece. Mathieu lifted the piano lid for me, and I began to play straightaway. I played the piece slowly, messing up the rhythm and getting frustrated with my fingers.

“Maybe this will help.” Mathieu put a metronome by the sheet music, and I glanced up at him in surprise.

“Thank you. It will.”

“I hated the stupid thing. You’re lucky it’s not smashed to bits.”

“This is yours?” I was surprised he still had it.

“Oui. You may keep it. I noticed you didn’t have one on your piano at your father’s.”

I bit my bottom lip, my heart so full of gratitude it was the only way I knew to contain it. It seemed stupid to be so happy over a metronome—something most piano students hated—but it was more than the object itself. Not only had he been thoughtful enough to realize I needed it, he’d given me the one that belonged to him. Jeez, Mathieu turned me all gushy. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “De rien.”

I turned the metronome to a super slow speed, then began to slowly pick through the section I was working on. After a while, the sound of a boy speaking French behind me caught my attention. I turned around to see a boy who looked a year or so younger than me.

“You must be Etienne,” I said, turning around on the bench. “I’m Sophie.”

He moved closer, studying me like I was an exotic animal plunked down in his apartment. Then he said something in French. Mathieu replied in a short burst of French before he said, “In English.”

Etienne grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh really?” I cast an amused glance at Mathieu, then back to Etienne. “What have you heard?”

Mathieu’s brother seemed to consider his words. “That you are Camille’s new sister.” Then his smile spread. “And that you are pretty.”

I blushed as Mathieu reprimanded him in French.

“Are you staying for lunch?” Etienne asked. “I’m starving.”

“Oh . . .” I had no idea what time it was, but it had to be later than usual since I’d always left before Etienne came home from his swimming practice. “I guess I should be going.”

“You can eat before you go,” Mathieu said.

“Yes,” Etienne said, grinning. “Please stay. Eat.”

“What time is it?”

“After twelve,” Etienne said. He was clearly up to something, but he didn’t seem malicious about it. It was like he knew Mathieu liked me and was playing matchmaker.

“Can you call Camille and tell her I’m staying?” I asked. “My brother might come looking for me.”

Mathieu’s smile fell at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name.

No, I couldn’t ask him to do that. Practicing here was one thing, but eating lunch was going too far. I stood and gathered my music. “On second thought, never mind. I forgot I have something I need to do.”

“What is it?” Etienne asked.

“Just a . . . something.” Brilliant, Sophie.

“Is it with Thomas?” Etienne asked. “Mathieu is angry with him.”

I shook my head, feeling a little happier about Mathieu’s anger than I should have. “No, it’s not with Thomas, not that Mathieu has a right to care.” I closed the flap on my bag and gave my attention to Etienne. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Maybe you can stay longer and I can ask you questions about les États Unis.”

“About what?” I asked in confusion.

“The States,” Mathieu said, glaring at his younger brother.

“Maybe next time. Is Monday okay?” I asked as I opened the front door. “You don’t have to walk me back, Mathieu. I can find the way.”

“I can come—”

I closed the door behind me, torn over my decision. It might be good to put a little distance between us.

It was becoming harder and harder to stay away from him.