DAD AND EVA became even more determined to work on blending our family, despite a collective bad attitude on the part of us teens. Saturday was the Fourth of July and so Dad made barbecue chicken, but Eric complained that it wasn’t the Fourth without fireworks. By Sunday night, they’d all but given up, even if our level of animosity toward one another had significantly decreased.

On Monday morning, I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. This would be the first time I’d see Mathieu since Friday night, so I spent more time getting ready and even decided to wear a skirt. Eric was standing in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas and a scowl on his face, nursing a cup of coffee. He watched as I stuffed my music and brand-new cell phone into my bag,

“If you aren’t back by noon, I’m coming to his house to get you.”

My mouth dropped open. “Dad promised me four hours. It’s almost nine now. That’s barely three hours.”

He shrugged, looking indignant.

“You can’t do this, Eric!”

He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Then maybe I should give Dad a call. I’m sure he’d want to know you’re about to spend hours alone with a guy you were making out with while everyone thought you were being murdered in some back alley.”

I wanted to kick him. “Twelve thirty. I swear, all I do is practice there. You know how lost I get in the music while I’m playing.”

“Fine. But you have to go out with Camille and her friends.”

“No!” The mutual desire for me to stay away from future group outings was probably the one thing Camille and I had in common.

“Then let me borrow your new phone to call Dad.”

“Fine!” I bolted out the door and down the stairs, pushing all thoughts of my brother out of my head. I ran so fast I was out of breath by the time I reached the bottom of the steps, but the sight of Mathieu waiting outside the front door made me breathless for a different reason.

“Bonjour,” he murmured, staring into my face, then letting his eyes glance down at my legs and back up.

“Bonjour.” My stomach was twisted into as many knots as a friendship bracelet. Our kisses Friday night had happened under the cover of darkness. Now it was the light of day, albeit a beautiful sunny day, and I wasn’t sure what the rules were.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry filling his eyes. “Did you get into a lot of trouble?”

“No, strangely enough, I didn’t, but it wasn’t any less ugly.”

He looked confused.

“Eric yelled. Camille yelled. Eva and Dad freaked out. I talked to my mother on the phone and she cried. They worried that I’d been kidnapped or murdered.”

He cringed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“How do you know?”

“Camille.”

“She doesn’t know you were with me on Friday night?”

“No. She thought you were wandering around alone. Your brother didn’t tell anyone?”

“No. What would you have done if Camille asked you about it?”

“I would have denied it.”

“You didn’t talk to her about us?”

“Not yet.” At least there was an apologetic look on his face when he said it. Part of me was upset, but I reminded myself of what Mom had said. This was temporary at best. I needed to accept it and be happy with what I had right now.

Mathieu tentatively reached for my hand, then interlaced our fingers when I didn’t pull away. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

He seemed just as uncertain about the rules of us as I was, which made me feel better. Feeling more confident, I asked him about his weekend.

When we arrived at the pâtisserie, he encouraged me to order in French. He paid and grabbed the bags, then surprised me by saying, “Let’s sit and eat here.”

When I didn’t protest, he sat down at a table on the sidewalk, and I sat across from him, suddenly nervous again. Was this a date?

He gave me an apologetic smile. “I know this is stealing part of your practice time . . .”

“No. You know, we’ve had breakfast together a lot, but this is the first time we’ve actually sat down to do it.” I paused, then said softly, “I like it.”

“Your French is getting better. Would you like to learn more?”

I grinned. “Oui. But I want to learn useful things.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “What could be more useful than learning how to ask for the restroom?”

I tilted my head. “It’s hard to imagine anything could be more useful, so maybe we could figure out something only slightly less useful.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” His face lit up. He was wearing a pale blue T-shirt with French writing across the front. The way it stretched across his chest and biceps made me blush a little. This tall, handsome, well-built guy wanted me. A warm feeling swelled in my chest.

“Um . . .” I took a bite of my pastry. I’d picked an éclair today. “How about what is your phone number?”

His eyebrows rose playfully. “Are you asking for my number, Sophie?”

“Maybe.”

“Puis-je avoir ton numéro de téléphone?”

I repeated the phrase, then dug out my phone and said, “Well? Are you going to give it to me?”

He leaned over and took it from me, surprise on his face. “You got a phone? When?”

“After Friday night. Eva said they needed a way to make sure I was safe, so they got me one.”

He tapped the screen and handed it back to me as his phone began to ring. He dug it out of his pocket. “Allô.” Then he looked at me. “That is how you answer.”

I held the phone up to my ear. “Allô.”

He spoke French into the phone. I couldn’t understand anything past his greeting, but I decided I liked having his voice in my ear. Then he hung up.

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a look of mock reprimand. “I have no idea what you just said.”

His blue eyes danced with amusement. “Lucky for me that means I still have a job as your French tutor.”

We stayed a little longer to finish our pastry and coffee, then walked to his apartment. “Eric says I have to be home by twelve thirty or he’s going to tell Dad you were with me on Friday.”

His smile fell. “So I did take away from your practice time.”

I squeezed his hand. “No. I loved this morning. Really. And if Camille won’t approve . . .”

He stopped and looked down at me. “I’m not ashamed of you.”

“I know.” But he hadn’t even tried.

He leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss, full of adoration and hope, then murmured against my lips, “I really like you, Sophie Brooks.”

“I really like you too, Mathieu Rousseau.” I always thought of him as Mathieu, not Mathieu Rousseau. “It sounds so French,” I thought out loud, then immediately turned beet red.

“You are adorable, Sophie Brooks, even when you state the obvious.” Then he began to walk again. “But we must hurry so you’ll have enough practice time.”

When we entered his apartment, we fell into our usual routine. Mathieu opened the piano, then disappeared; I got out my music and began to play. I was completely lost in a section of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude—one I was finally feeling good about—when I noticed him standing next to the piano.

I stopped and groaned, frustrated that I had to stop. “Is it time to go?”

“Oui et non.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. How could it be both?

“Camille called. She wants me to take you to meet her, your brother, and our friends.”

“What? Why?”

“They want to see the Opéra and she says it will be faster if I take you.”

“They’re going to an opera? Is it in French?”

He chuckled. “No. They are touring the building. It’s very famous.”

“Were you planning to go?”

He grimaced and looked away.

He wasn’t. So he was changing his schedule to accommodate my irritating stepsister. “I can just go by myself.” I would have put it off altogether, but I’d promised Eric. “Help me figure out which trains to take.”

“No. She said you might get lost if I don’t take you.”

“And I’m sure it wasn’t out of concern for me. She’s just worried she’ll get in trouble somehow. I’ll figure out a way to get you out of this.”

He didn’t answer, so I grabbed my bag off the floor and dug out my phone. I figured I’d send Eric a text begging him to let me cancel, but he’d already beat me to it.

You’re not going anywhere with that French guy. I’ll be outside his apartment at 12:30.

I wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to take me at all. Eric’s coming to pick me up.”

“Sophie,” he said, sighing. “It’s not that I don’t want to go to the Opéra with you. I just . . .”

“It’s okay.” I knew he didn’t owe me an explanation, yet I really wanted one anyway. I glanced back at the music, trying to decide what to do. It was 12:20, which meant I had another ten minutes to play, but I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. I grabbed the music and tucked it into my bag.

“Sophie.”

I forced a grin. “I want to hear you play.”

A look of surprise filled his eyes, then he laughed. “I told you I would play for you, but you have to audition for my mother’s school first.”

“That’s insane.” He gave me a blank stare, and I realized he didn’t understand the word. “It’s crazy.”

He grinned. “Not as crazy as you think.” He moved toward me. “But if you aren’t going to play, maybe we could do something else before you go.”

My stomach did backflips. Did he want to make out? The thought equally terrified and thrilled me.

A blush crept up his face. “I can make you lunch.”

I gasped. “Oh. Did I say what I was thinking out loud?”

He laughed but looked away. “No. But I could see it on your face.”

Another voice caught me by surprise. “I want lunch.”

I stood and spun around. “Etienne. I didn’t know you were home.”

“You’re just like Maman. Lost in la musique. I got home over an hour ago.”

“Sorry. Especially if I disturbed you.”

He gave me a huge grin. “I have headphones.”

I cringed. “Sorry.”

“Maman said it was only for July, then you would be leaving, non?”

“And part of August, but I don’t have to come here to practice.”

Mathieu interrupted. “It won’t be a problem, will it, Etienne?”

Mathieu’s brother looked back and forth between the both of us, then spoke in French. Mathieu seemed irritated, but he replied with something that made Etienne laugh.

“What did you two just say?” I asked.

“We came to an understanding,” Mathieu said. “Etienne will mind his own business.”

“And let you play as long as you want,” Etienne finished.

“Why do I still think I missed part of this conversation?”

Etienne just shrugged and smiled.

I shook my head, but seeing them together gave me hope. I doubted Camille and I would ever be close, but maybe someday we could have a conversation without wanting to scratch out each other’s eyes.

My eyes found the French doors on the opposite wall of the kitchen. I suddenly realized that though I’d been to Mathieu’s apartment several times now, I had only seen a tiny piece of it. “I don’t have time for lunch, but I’d love a quick tour of your apartment.”

Mathieu’s eyes widened. “Oh. Okay.” Then he grinned. “This is the living room.”

I looked around at the sofa and vintage chairs, the fireplace surrounded by marble and ornate woodwork. “Where’s the TV?”

“Our parents don’t believe in television,” Mathieu said, his tone guarded.

“Which is why we have them in our rooms,” Etienne added.

“My mom tried that for about three weeks once. Let’s just say it didn’t work out.” I laughed. “My dad couldn’t handle it.” But the memory of what used to be still pricked a bit, like a slightly dulled needle. Time to change the subject. “What’s in that room?” I asked, pointing to the French doors.

“Father’s office,” Etienne said. “And it’s not allowed.”

“We can’t go in,” Mathieu said. “But Maman keeps her music in there.”

“Oh.” They sounded so adamant I couldn’t help wondering how many times that had been pounded into their heads. I wandered over to the room and peered in the glass doors. A large wood desk filled the center of the room, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined one wall. Every inch of space on the shelves looked to be filled with music books.

I went into the kitchen next, the two boys watching me like I was an exotic animal set loose in their apartment and they weren’t sure what to do. The kitchen was nicer and newer than Eva’s, but it had a sterile look. The living room felt much the same way.

“Does your mother cook?” I asked.

“Oui,” Etienne said. “Madeline cooks very well.”

Mathieu’s mother’s name was Madeline. I filed that piece of information into the folder in my brain titled Facts I Know about Mathieu Rousseau.

“Your brother will be here in a few minutes,” Mathieu said. “You probably shouldn’t be late.”

“Do you have any younger sisters?” Etienne asked. Mathieu playfully smacked him on the head.

“No, I only have one annoying older brother.”

Etienne shot Mathieu a look. “Me too.”

“I feel your pain.” I laughed. “I better go.”

“I’ll walk you downstairs.” Mathieu led me toward the door.

“You can come anytime you want, Sophie,” Etienne called out. “Even if you don’t have a sister.”

I giggled. “Merci.”

As soon as the door shut behind me, Mathieu pulled me against his chest and kissed me. The abrupt move caught me by surprise, but it only took me half a second to catch up.

“I’ve wanted to do that all morning,” he said, smiling down at me.

I blushed. “But we kissed before we got to your apartment.”

“That was hours ago.” I studied his face, his grin, trying to commit it to memory. Soon I would have to leave him, and we wouldn’t even have this.

He cupped my cheek, his hand smooth against my skin. “I’ll miss you today.”

It was like he’d read my mind. “Me too.”

Sighing, he took my hand, and we descended the stairs together in silence. When we reached the bottom, he gave me another kiss, soft this time. “Have a wonderful day, Sophie.” Then he opened the door to the small lobby. I expected him to go back upstairs, but he followed me instead, opening the outer door and giving my brother a stare so cold it could freeze the sun.

“Sophie,” Eric said, looking me up and down. “It’s time to go.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Mathieu watched my brother for several seconds, then turned his back to Eric and lowered his voice. “If you feel unsafe, text or call me. I’ll come get you right away.”

“Mathieu, Eric would never hurt me.”

But I saw him looking down at my wrists before he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Just remember what I said.” Then he walked back inside, shutting the door behind him.

I needed to tell him how I’d really gotten the marks. But would he confront Dane? I didn’t want him to get hurt, especially not because of me.

“What was that about?” my brother demanded.

“Nothing.” I held on to the strap of my bag. “Where’s the nearest Metro station?”

“That wasn’t nothing, Sophie.”

“It’s a misunderstanding that I’ve tried to clear up, but your hostile attitude isn’t helping.”

“That’s not a misunderstanding. He thinks I’m going to hurt you. Why?”

I groaned, trying not to panic. I couldn’t tell either one of them about Dane grabbing my wrists. How could I make him drop this? “You have to admit you were pretty aggressive Friday night.”

“I would never hurt you.” He sounded offended.

“I know that, but he barely knows you. And when he sees you with me, you’re always threatening him.” I took a breath.” Have you eaten? Because I’m starving.”

He was silent for several seconds. I could see a war waging in his eyes, then his shoulders slumped with defeat. “No, I haven’t. We can stop and get something.”

It was only a couple of blocks to La Tour Maubourg station, which thankfully took us directly to our stop, aptly named Opéra. We stopped by a bakery that sold sandwiches and ate them on the way.

Camille and her friends were waiting on the front steps of that impressive gold-domed building I’d noticed from the Eiffel Tower. She and Dane were sitting next to each other, their hips plastered together. Marine and her brother, Thomas, and Sarah were all there.

“Ou est Mathieu?” Camille asked, her hands on her hips, as we approached.

“He couldn’t come,” I said before Eric could respond. “Had other plans.”

“You understood me?” she asked in surprise.

She knew we had spent some time together. Should I confess he’d been teaching me French? But Thomas was watching with extreme interest, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or put any more stress on his friendship with Mathieu. “You asked Mathieu to bring me here, so I figured that’s what you were saying. It was, wasn’t it?”

Uncertainty wavered in her eyes, then she looked away. “Let’s get this over with so we can go shopping.”

Dane wrapped an arm around her back. “That’s the spirit.” Then he plopped a kiss on her lips and started to guide her down the stairs.

The others followed them, but Thomas had found his way to my side.

Eric scowled at him. “I’ll be within twenty feet of you, so don’t get any ideas.”

Good heavens. What had gotten into him? “Eric, give it a rest.”

“What’s going on with your brother?” Thomas asked as Eric slunk off ahead of us, looking over his shoulder at me.

“I have no idea.” I sighed, watching Eric in wonder. For sixteen years, he had acted like he couldn’t care less about what I did or who I talked to, and suddenly he was like a wrestler on steroids, ready to beat up any guy who dared to make eye contact with me. “But I plan to ignore him as much as possible. What do you know about the Opéra?”

“As little as possible.”

We spent about an hour in the building. I got an audio tour for the sole purpose of avoiding conversation with Thomas. I felt guilty, but I didn’t want to encourage him.

When we left, Marine said something that got Camille and Sarah excited. The guys didn’t seem to balk at the suggestion, so we all headed across the street.

“Where are we going?” I asked my shadow.

“To Hermé’s. They sell macaroons there.”

I’d had macaroons before in Charleston, but I had to admit I was curious. I’d heard French macaroons were worlds better than their American counterparts. So I followed along willingly enough—not that I had a choice.

The macaroons were being sold on the first floor of what looked like a department store. The display case was small, but filled with a wide assortment of choices. The prices were ridiculously expensive.

“Do you want a macaroon?” Thomas asked as we watched the three girls make their choices.

I didn’t have any money, and I wasn’t about to ask my brother for some.

“I’ll pay for them.”

I gasped. “Oh, Thomas. I can’t let you do that.”

“Have you had French macaroons before?”

“No, but . . .”

“What kinds would you like?” When I started to protest, he held up his hand. “I’m buying macaroons, so you might as well tell me what you want. Otherwise, you might end up getting a flavor you don’t like.”

“You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

He laughed. “I have no idea what that means.”

“It means you won’t leave me alone until I say yes.”

His grin spread across his face. “Then yes. You will find I am very relentless.”

I requested only three flavors—lemon, chocolate, and raspberry. He ordered several for himself and offered me the open box when the clerk handed it to him. I picked the lemon macaroon first and took a small bite, surprised by the delicate texture. The crust crushed in with only a small amount of pressure.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

This macaroon wasn’t like any macaroon I’d ever tasted back home. In fact, I decided the imposters from Charleston should be ashamed. “This is delicious.” Then I took another small bite, intending to savor every morsel. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to give you your first French macaroons.”

Guilt washed over me. I felt like I was two-timing Mathieu, which was ridiculous. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and besides, it wasn’t like we were boyfriend and girlfriend. But somehow I knew the connection we shared was too special to dismiss. It wasn’t right to let Thomas think something could happen between us.

“Thomas,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. “I feel like I should be honest with you about something.”

A strange look crossed his face.

What was I going to tell him? “I really like you, but I have a boyfriend back home,” was out of my mouth before I gave it coherent thought. Oh crap. Why had I said that? One slip from my brother and Thomas would catch me in a lie. But it was too late now.

“Oh.” Disappointment filled his eyes before he looked down.

“I hope you’ll still want to spend time with me.”

He studied me for a moment, then gave me a hesitant smile. “Why wouldn’t I spend time with you? We’re friends, non?”

I pushed out a huge breath. “Yes. I really want to be your friend.”

“Then nothing has changed. Now eat another macaroon.” He held out the box, and I took the raspberry one, grateful that I now had two friends in Paris. Never in a million years would I have expected that, let alone that both of them would be guys.

I was definitely out of my element.