JUST AS MATHIEU had said, Camille went to a club again that night. Dane and Eric went with her while I happily stayed at home. She had reluctantly invited me, but I didn’t feel like watching Dane and Camille make out all night. And would Thomas expect me to dance with him if he came? I had a feeling it wouldn’t be like the dances at my private school in Charleston, which were so lame most people stood around listening to bad music for forty minutes to an hour before leaving early. And if Thomas did want me to dance with him, what would he expect? It was less complicated to just stay home.

Dad and Eva had planned a date night because they’d presumed we would all go out. After Camille and the guys left and they realized I was staying home, they suggested changing their plans and staying home with me.

“Go ahead and go,” I said. “I was planning to stay here and play the piano.”

Dad frowned. “Have you done anything other than practice the piano today? How long were you are at Camille’s friend’s house?”

“Several hours, but it wasn’t—”

“You spend entirely too much time at that piano.”

“What?”

“William,” Eva murmured, looking cross.

Dad ignored her. “I told Eva that it would be a bad idea for you to go over to that boy’s house to practice. I wanted you to enjoy this summer, not sit at a piano the entire time you’re here. You can’t hide behind your keyboard and let life pass you by.”

“I can’t believe you said that! Do you even know me at all?”

“I know you better than you think. You’re in Paris, Sophie. You need to go out and see the sights. You can play piano in Charleston.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I didn’t realize I was going to be interrogated for staying at your apartment.”

“I think you need to be honest about why you sit for hours behind the piano. You’re afraid to step outside of your comfort zone.”

“Stop,” I said, furious now. “Don’t you dare presume to know anything about me! I’ve changed since you left—a lot—and you’re not even trying to understand me.” I grabbed my bag from the piano bench and slung it over my shoulder, then grabbed the key I shared with Eric from on top of my music. “I’m doing what I love. Isn’t that why you abandoned us? To do what you love?” I shook my head in disgust. “I’m going out. You have fun coming up with new ways to insult me.”

I stomped to the door and slammed it behind me, ignoring my father’s protests and Eva’s stunned look.

I had no idea where I was going, only that I wanted out, but it wasn’t a surprise when I found myself headed toward Mathieu’s apartment. I told myself it was out of habit, but I didn’t stop walking. When I reached his building, I stopped outside and wondered what to do next. I considered walking past, but I didn’t want to be alone. So I took a deep breath and pressed the button next to his apartment number. Seconds later, a man’s voice came through the speaker, speaking in garbled French.

“Uh . . . is Mathieu there?”

There was silence for several seconds before I heard a voice I recognized. “Sophie?”

Suddenly tears filled my eyes. I pressed the button, hoping my voice didn’t shake. “Mathieu, I’m sorry to drop by, but I really need to talk to someone.”

“You can come up.”

I hadn’t recognized the first man’s voice, which meant his stepfather was probably home. I wasn’t about to go up to his apartment and embarrass myself any more than I already had. Especially since Eva and Mathieu’s mother were friends. “Can you come down?” What was I doing? I was making an utter fool of myself. I pressed the button. “Never mind. I’ll just see you on Monday.”

“Non!” he practically shouted. “Wait there. Don’t leave. Please.”

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Okay.”

I stood to the side of his door, my face pressed to the wall because now that the dam to my tears had broken loose, I couldn’t seem to make them stop.

A couple of minutes later, he bolted out the front door of his apartment building. He looked worried, but the worry switched to panic when he saw my tears. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head. “Just my heart.” But that seemed to worry him even more, and I shook my head again and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. “My father. We had a fight.”

Understanding filled his eyes, and he gave me a slight nod.

That made me cry even more, because I knew he empathized.

“Uh . . . would you like to come up?”

“Are your parents home?”

“Oui.”

I shook my head several times. “No. This was stupid. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at all.” I started to walk off, horrified that I’d made such a spectacle of myself, but he grabbed my arm and gently pulled me back.

“Sophie.” His voice was soft and understanding. “Just wait here, okay? I have to tell my mother I’m leaving.” I hesitated, and he grew more insistent. “Please. I don’t have my phone, and she will be worried.”

“You’re not going to tell her I’m down here crying, are you?”

He looked confused. “No . . . ?”

“She’s going to think I’m one of those emotional, drama queen girls. Don’t tell her.”

“I won’t. Come inside the front door.” He took my hand and pulled me into the lobby between the double doors. “Wait for me here, okay?”

I nodded, still sniffling. He bolted through the second door and up the stairs, and to my relief, I had myself reasonably together by the time he came back down, a couple of tissues in his hand. He held them out to me, and I turned my back and blew my nose, then stuffed the tissues into my bag.

“This is becoming a bad habit,” I said with a small grin. “Next time I cry, I promise to be prepared.”

He looked relieved that I’d made a joke. “Where would you like to go?”

My amused look faded. “Do you know that is the first time anyone has asked me that question the entire time I’ve been here?”

A soft smile lit up his eyes. “I’m happy I’m the first. Where do you want to go?”

“The Eiffel Tower. I can see it out my bedroom window, and Eric and I walked over to it the day we got here, but I’ve never been back.”

“Then we shall go to the Eiffel Tower.”

He held the outer door open for me to exit, then fell in step beside me. “You didn’t go out with Camille.”

“No.” I didn’t want to admit to my lame reason for not going. “What about you?”

“I was about to leave.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Mathieu, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you—”

“I was going because I hoped to see you.” Then he slipped his hand in mine, twining our fingers together.

“Oh.” A flutter of anticipation washed through me, stealing my breath.

He looked down at me, then squeezed my hand, his warm and strong against mine. I squeezed back.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My dad just insulted pretty much everything about me.”

“What did he say?”

“He thinks I spend too much time at the piano, but he doesn’t even know how much time I practice. He doesn’t know why I chose not to go to the club, but he thinks I should be there. The only reason he cares is that he’ll feel guilty if he goes out.”

“I’m sorry.”

I teared up again. “How could he forget so much about me in only ten months?”

He didn’t answer.

“I used to wonder why he didn’t try to take us with him. He says it was because my mother threatened to fight him, but I wish he’d at least tried.”

“My father didn’t fight for me either. I told you they argued, but they were ugly fights. Lots of yelling and throwing things. One day they had a huge fight and my mother kicked him out. I didn’t see him for five years.”

“Oh, Mathieu. I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “He finally came back, and we started having Tuesday night dinners. We still do, and now we’re friends.”

“Friends? Not a father?”

“Non.”

“And you don’t get along with your stepfather?”

“No. He’s good to my mother, but he’ll be glad when I go to university in a year.”

My heart hurt to hear him say that. I hardly knew Eva at all, but I knew she’d never so callously dismiss me. “Where do you want to go to university?”

“London, I think. I want to study international banking.”

“Like Eva. Which is why you need the internship.”

We sidestepped a father who was bending over a stroller, adjusting his baby’s straps. Mathieu’s hand tightened around mine so we didn’t break contact, sending flutters through my stomach.

Get it together, Sophie. Nothing could come from this. We were friends. Friends who held hands. “Your mother is a piano instructor at a conservatory and your dad is a taxi driver. What does your stepfather do?”

“He’s also an instructor at the conservatoire. He teaches violin.”

“Does Etienne play?”

“Not anymore.” He grinned. “They stopped giving me a hard time about quitting piano when he quit the cello. What does your mother do?”

“She’s a nurse at a local hospital.”

“Does she play piano?”

I laughed. “No. Just my grandmother.”

“Is your grandmother excited you want to study piano at university?”

I smiled up at him. “Oui.”

“You should audition for my mother’s conservatoire.”

“What?”

“It’s a university, but they have a lycée program.”

“What’s a lycée?”

“It’s a three-year school, like your high school. Next year I’ll be in terminal, which is similar to your senior year. You would be in the première, or your junior year.”

“The university conservatory has a high school? And they study music?” It was tantalizing to think of having my piano lessons during school.

“Oui, the program is only a couple of years old. They take a limited number of students, and it’s very competitive to enter, but you would have a chance.”

I blushed. “You don’t know that.”

“I’ve heard my mother’s students play. I know.” He gave me a smug look. “And I played for eight years myself.”

“I want to hear you play.”

He shook his head playfully. “No.”

I leaned into his arm. “Come on.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll play for you if you agree to audition for the Conservatoire de Seine.”

“What?” I took a step away from him, but he held on to my hand. “Your mother teaches at Conservatoire de Seine?” I’d heard of that school. It was on my dream list. Or more accurately, my daydream list.

“Yes, and you should audition.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I’d have to live in Paris to go there.”

“So?”

I shook my head. “Let’s move past the living here part—it’s July, Mathieu. When do classes start?”

“The beginning of September.”

“Haven’t they picked their students already?”

“Oui, but sometimes they have dropouts. The school replaces them.”

“I can’t audition. It’s crazy.”

“Why? Because you’ve never considered it before? You would get a two-year advance on conservatoire.”

“But it’s in French. I’m not sure asking for a croissant will help me in school.”

He chuckled, clearly undaunted by my protests. “They teach the lessons in French and English.”

I couldn’t believe I was considering it, but it was exciting to pretend I was brave and could take risks. But this was my dream. Only a couple of years early. “It’s crazy.”

“You already said that.”

“And besides, it’s too late to audition.”

“Lucky for you, I know the director of the program.” He winked. “I eat dinner with her almost every night.”

“Your mother’s the director?” Could I really do this? The very thought filled me with anxiety, but I couldn’t deny it was appealing. To actually go to school and not only learn from the best, but be surrounded by people who made music their life. It was like a dream come true. “I’ll consider it.”

His face radiated happiness. “Good.”

I couldn’t let myself stop and consider that going to school in Paris would mean I could continue to see him after August.

We stopped for ice cream and ate it on the rest of our walk. We’d just finished by the time we reached the Champs de Mars, the lawn to the south of the Eiffel Tower. A crowd of rowdy teens had begun to gather even though it wasn’t dark yet, and they were jostling for a place to see the Eiffel Tower’s light display.

“Do you want to go up?” Mathieu asked.

I clutched my bag to my side. “I’m not sure I have enough money to buy a ticket.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s not what I asked.”

Did I? My gaze followed the metal structure up into the now pink sky. The thought of going up to the viewing platforms scared me, but I was determined to try. Especially since it was the one thing I wanted to do here. Getting to go up with Mathieu was a bonus. I smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

He seemed pleased with my answer. “Then let’s go get in line for tickets for the lift.”

As we waited, Mathieu told me about life at his lycée, which was located in the 5th Arrondissement—the Latin Quarter. He and his friends had been split up after their version of middle school. Although their high schools were public, they had to apply to enter the good lycées. Their small group had been divided between two schools, both close to the Pantheon, and both very elite. I’d already presumed Mathieu was smart, so this information only confirmed it. Mathieu took the Metro to and from school, as did his friends, and I listened in amazement as he described a life so different from my own I had a hard time imagining it.

Since he shared so much, I told him about my life back in Charleston and my small private high school. He marveled that I lived in a house with a yard (which he called a garden) and that I’d gotten my driver’s license the previous spring.

“I can’t believe you can’t drive until you’re eighteen!” I said. “I’d never get anywhere. We don’t have a subway and we don’t take the bus.”

“It’s not like many of us drive anyway. Not many people here own a car. Tell me more about your best friend, Jenna.”

“She’s the best. She’s funny and smart, and she always has my back.”

Confusion flickered over his face, and I realized I’d lost him with an Americanism.

“If someone is mean to me, she always takes my side. She gives me advice.” My face blushed at the thought that I’d sought her advice about him only days ago. “You can meet Jenna in a few weeks. Dane will leave and she’ll take his place.” I was still looking forward to it, but things would change. For one thing, Mathieu and I wouldn’t have any more alone time.

“Are you upset about Dane leaving? Will Eric be sad?”

I heard the hesitation in his voice. “Eric is pretty disgusted with Dane right now.” Then I remembered what I’d said about Dane the day Mathieu had found me on the subway platform. Was he worried? “There was never anything between Dane and me. It was just a crush.” I grimaced. “And it ended the second I got a good look at his personality.”

“Are he and Eric good friends?”

“Dane was one of the first friends he made when we moved to Charleston. We moved a lot when we were kids, so sometimes it was hard to fit in. But Dane isn’t his best friend. Dylan couldn’t come on such short notice. I think Eric has been just as shocked as I have.”

“I’ve had my friends since primary school, and I’ve only lived in two apartments,” Mathieu said. “Our apartment with my father, and then we moved into Jean Luc’s apartment.”

Finally, after waiting about an hour in line for tickets, we made it up to the window. For once I didn’t mind the Parisian queues.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock, and it’ll take at least another hour to get up there. Do you have time?” Mathieu asked as I dug out my money.

I knew I should probably check in with someone, but for once I didn’t care. “Yes. Let’s go up.”

It turned out I had just enough euros to buy my own ticket. Mathieu probably didn’t have a burning desire to do something so touristy, so I felt bad about making him spend his own money on a ticket. “I haven’t been up since I was ten,” he said, touching my arm softly to reassure me, the point of contact sending a jolt through me. “And I want to go with you.”

Our next line was for the elevator to the viewing platforms. We got off at the second stop, but as soon as we stepped onto the metal floor, I was equal parts excited and terrified.

“Just give me a moment,” I said, trying to curtail my embarrassment as I plastered my back against a wall in the middle of the structure.

Mathieu stood next to me with a reassuring smile. “If you can go down into the catacombs, this is nothing. And you did fine there.”

I took a breath and reached for his hand. He’d dropped it after we got ice cream. It was perfectly safe to be up here, and I knew it, but I needed to hold on to him now. His belief in me gave me strength.

Mathieu squeezed my hand tight. “Let’s see Paris.”

I let him lead me out onto the viewing platform, holding his hand in a death grip. The sun had set, and the sky was turning an inky dark blue. Stars were beginning to dot the sky, and the skyline was full of lights. It was magical.

“There is Arc de Triomphe,” Mathieu said, pointing with his free hand. The white arch was off to the left and illuminated with clear, bright lights. “We should go there too. The view is wonderful.”

I looked up at him, trying to figure out if he had suggested we take another excursion together or if it was merely an off-handed remark, but he pulled me to another section. “Grand Palais.” The interior of the massive arched glass ceiling was lit up, making the building glow from the inside out.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, leaning into his arm as I took in the view.

“Oui. Très jolie.”

I shifted my gaze to him, surprised to see him looking at me, his eyes as alight as the building, and it occurred to me that I’d gotten jolie all wrong the other day.

I met his gaze without flinching, amazed that I wasn’t embarrassed or scared. This was exactly where I was supposed to be. With him.

He slowly leaned forward, and his lips gently pressed against mine. I froze—terrified he would change his mind, or worse yet, think I was a bad kisser. But his lips became bolder, and somehow my body knew what to do. My hands were on his shoulders, pulling him closer, and my lips were moving with his.

It was my first kiss. I’d heard so many disaster stories about first kisses, but this was perfect. My stomach fluttered and the rest of my body flushed. But my heart soared. I’d crushed on several guys, but none of them had made me feel like this.

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes, smiling, and in that moment I didn’t think my life could be any more perfect.