AFTER TWO DAYS apart, I was eager to see Mathieu on Monday morning. He seemed to feel the same way, judging from the way he gathered me into his arms as soon as I walked out the door.

“Mathieu,” I said, pulling away after several seconds. “What about Eric?”

“I’ve missed you, Sophie. I don’t care about Eric.”

I didn’t either. But ultimately, Mathieu did care. “Let’s go around the block. Then you can kiss me again.”

He grabbed my hand and tugged me down the street and around the corner. He looked down at me, smiling softly. “I’ve missed seeing your face.”

“I’ve missed seeing yours more.”

He kissed me again, but it was soft and gentle. “Let’s get breakfast.”

“Okay.”

We followed our new routine—sitting outside with our breakfast and talking. Since we hadn’t seen each other for two days, we stayed longer than usual. Mathieu seemed on edge, but when I asked him if something was wrong, he just shook his head. “No,” he said, looking down at his phone, “but it’s already ten o’clock, Sophie. We need to go.”

I reluctantly agreed, wondering if I’d done or said something wrong as we walked the rest of the way to his apartment. Once inside, I got to work like I usually did.

My Rachmaninoff piece was almost put together, and I was feeling the pressure to start the next piece Miss Lori had given me.

I was currently stuck on a measure I knew wasn’t correct. I’d been listening to a recording of it on my laptop, and though I could tell it was off, I couldn’t quite figure out how to fix it. I’d been playing the two tied measures over and over for nearly a half hour. It had to be driving Mathieu and Etienne crazy, but they were too nice to say anything.

“Play that section with a 5/3 time rhythm,” a feminine voice said behind me.

I sucked in a breath and spun around to face the woman standing three feet behind me. She wore a gray skirt paired with a pale blue silk blouse. Her dark hair was pulled back into a twist, pinned to the back of her head. She had a kind face, but her eyes were intense as she glanced from me to the sheet music and back again.

“Tie the first note of the right hand sextuplet to the D in the left hand quintuplet.”

My heart began to race. This woman was Mathieu’s mother. I could see the resemblance.

She made a shooing motion toward the piano. “Go ahead. Try it.”

I took her advice and tied the two notes, then played the rest slowly.

“Yes, that’s it, but watch the time with that quarter note.”

I repeated the measure, then stopped and glanced back at her.

“Don’t stop, mon petit chou. Continuez-vous.”

I started with the troublesome area, then continued on, trying to forget she was behind me, listening.

When I finished, I put my hands in my lap and waited.

There was the sound of clicking heels, and then she stood beside me at the piano. “Mathieu was correct. You are quite talented.”

I blushed. “Thank you.”

“As you must have presumed, I’m Mathieu’s mother, Madeline Rousseau.” She extended her hand, and I stood and shook it.

“Bonjour, Madame Rousseau. Enchanté. Je m’appelle Sophie Brooks.”

She laughed, then said in English, “Mathieu said he’d been teaching you le français. Très bien.”

“Merci.” My face flushed even more. “Thank you for letting me use your piano.”

“It’s nothing.” She waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “I’m sure he’s told you, I’m in charge of the lycée program at the Conservatoire de Seine. We’ve had two openings come up for the fall semester, which starts the first week of September. We’re hosting invitation-only auditions the second week of August. I would be happy to have you audition for our program.”

My breath stuck in my chest. “What?” I choked out.

She gave me a warm smile. “You will need a sonata, an etude, and a piece from the romantic period. This Rachmaninoff piece will work for the romantic piece if you can get it cleaned up in time. You’re interested, I presume?”

Was I? I was thrilled she’d invited me to audition—Mathieu and I had discussed the possibility, but I’d never once let myself believe it was a possibility. Still, I couldn’t actually move to Paris, could I? What about my mother? But I found myself nodding. “Oui. Merci.”

“Très bien. Then I’ll send you more information and arrange an audition time for you.” She turned, and I realized Mathieu had been standing behind her the whole time. He was smiling, but he looked worried too. He’d already suggested I audition for her program. Had he changed his mind?

Madame Rousseau greeted him in French and then kissed his cheeks.

I glanced down at my phone to check the time. I had forty-five minutes left, but how could I concentrate on my music when Mathieu’s mother was here listening? And my brain was still trying to process the fact that I’d agreed to audition for the conservatoire. What other pieces would I play? I only had a month to prepare.

Madame Rousseau took Mathieu into his stepfather’s office and shut the door, allaying my concern. She would still be able to hear me play, of course, but at least she wasn’t watching me. I set a timer on my phone since Mathieu seemed busy with his mother. To my surprise, they were still in the office when my timer went off. I packed up my music, closed up the piano, and headed for the door, not wanting to disturb them.

But the office door opened, and Mathieu’s mother stood in the opening. “Sophie, you’ll have to skip practice tomorrow. Our family has plans for Bastille Day.”

“Oh.” My father hadn’t mentioned anything about celebrating. “Thank you for letting me come at all.”

“De rein.”

Eric was waiting for me on the sidewalk, and he looked confused when he didn’t see Mathieu behind me. “Where’s your shadow, Mit-shoe?”

I rolled my eyes when I realized he was talking about Mathieu. “His mother’s home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’ve spent at least a half hour or so in his stepfather’s office.”

“So he’s in trouble?” He looked entirely too happy about that.

I had to admit I was worried that he might be. But what if his mother had found out his deep, dark secret? Would that make Camille’s threat null and void? I decided to tell Eric the exciting news. “His mother is in charge of a special program at the conservatoire where she teaches. She walked in and heard me playing.” I turned to him and grabbed his arm. “Eric. She invited me to audition.”

He came to a halt. “Wait. Slow down. Tell me about this program.”

I explained it to him and he watched me with a surprisingly neutral expression. “You hate Paris.”

“I don’t hate it anymore.”

His eyes narrowed. “Because of him.”

I shrugged. “I guess he’s part of it.”

“So you’re doing this for him? You’re going to uproot your entire life to stay here in Paris with him—and he won’t even tell his friends about you? Sophie, don’t let this guy hurt you like that.”

When he put it that way, it sounded so wrong. Was Mathieu really the reason I wanted to audition? I had admitted he was at least part of it. And in a way, Eric was right. The secret had begun to chafe, especially when I was hanging out with Mathieu’s friends. My white lie about a boyfriend back home had bit me in the butt. Thomas had begun asking questions, and although I tried to evade most of them, I’d had to tell a few more white lies to cover my first big one.

I didn’t want to lie anymore.

My eyes filled with tears. “I think I’m going to stay home this afternoon.”

“Soph, I’m sorry. I just don’t want him to hurt you.”

I tried to hold back my tears. “I know. Merci.”

He looked surprised by my accidental slip of French, but he shook it off. “Why don’t you and me hang out this afternoon? Just the two of us, like our first day here.”

I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“What would you like to do?”

More tears burned my eyes. Mathieu had asked me the same thing before our magical night at the Eiffel Tower. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s start with lunch. I’m starving.”

I grinned. “You’re always starving.”

“Hey! I’m a growing boy. But it’s too expensive here. Let’s go to the Latin Quarter.”

“Sure.”

We took the Metro to the Latin Quarter, then found an alley that catered to tourists. The owners and employees stood outside the various open-air restaurants like circus barkers, offering enticements like free drinks and half-price entrees. We picked an Italian restaurant.

“Won’t Dane be upset if you don’t join them?” I asked after we were seated at a table on the patio.

“Nah.” He picked up a breadstick and took a bite, watching the tourists pass with their bags of souvenirs. “He’s obsessed with Camille.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, pretending indifference, but I could see it bothered him.

“For what it’s worth, Marine is totally into you.”

His gaze jerked back to me. “What?”

I laughed. “Did you really not know?”

He grimaced. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Does that make you sorry you stayed with me?”

“Nah.” He took another bite of his breadstick.

“What are they doing today, anyway?”

“They’re going to a cemetery outside of town to see Jim Morrison’s grave.”

“Why would they want to see his grave?”

He shook his head. “Duh, because he’s a classical legend.”

“Mozart. Bach. Rachmaninoff. Those are classical musicians,” I teased. We’d had this conversation before. Eric loved classic rock.

He was silent for a moment. “And this school where Mattchew’s mother teaches . . . what would you learn there? Would it be like a high school with music classes?”

“I’ve heard of the university conservatoire, but I didn’t know it had a lycée program.”

He gave me a blank look.

“High school. I only found out when he told me about the lycée program last week, but I didn’t give it serious consideration until his mother actually invited me to audition.”

“Would she let you in if he asked her to?”

“I doubt it. They both said it was a very competitive program. The audition is invitation only.” I sighed. “But even if I did want to go, there’s little hope of me getting chosen. Mathieu’s mother might have gotten me the audition, but I would have to really bring it to win the spot.”

He kept his gaze on me. “But you want it.”

“I don’t know.” I shifted in my seat and leaned forward. “I mean, it’s a huge honor to be invited to audition, and it’s a prestigious university, but it’s Paris—”

“Which you no longer hate.”

“True. I’ve started having fun with Thomas and Sarah . . . when she thinks Camille’s not looking. And the city is beautiful. But when Jenna gets here on Sunday, I want to spend time with her. If I audition, I’ll have to beef up my practice time to more than four hours a day. I might have to learn some new pieces, which is insane. I won’t have as much time to spend with her.” I shook my head. “What am I thinking? This is crazy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess it depends on why you’re doing it.” He gave me a pointed look.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to audition at all. Maybe I should call it off.”

“Liar.”

My eyes flew open wide.

“You want to audition, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The question is, do you want to spend your last two years of high school in Paris, France?”

“You know I don’t.”

“I don’t know that at all. Dad’s here.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “So?”

“So? If he’d asked you to come with him to Paris a year ago, you would have thrown all your clothes into a couple of suitcases and taken off without a good-bye.”

I twisted my mouth into a grimace. “No way.”

“You would have. I think part of why you’re still so pissed at Dad is that he didn’t take you with him. He went on this adventure and left you behind. If you saw him all the time, you would have a better chance of fixing you guys. I don’t think this summer is enough.”

“I hate you right now,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my water. What I really hated was that he was probably right. About all of it. “When did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart. You were just too stupid to notice.”

I grinned. “Whatever.”

“Look,” he said, leaning forward and turning serious. “If you decide you really want to go to school here, do it for you, not Dad. Not Mathieu. Do it because it’s your dream. Mom gave up her dream to make Dad happy, and I’m pretty sure that’s a part of the reason they’re divorced.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mom wanted to go to medical school, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“She got accepted, but then gave it up so Dad could do a fellowship in Paris.”

“Why didn’t they just have a long-distance relationship?”

“She was pregnant with me.”

“Oh . . .” How had I never put this together before? “Thanks, Eric.” He’d helped me more than I could have ever expected.

We walked around a bit after finishing lunch, and on a whim we ended up racing remote control sailboats against each other at the Luxembourg Gardens. Ever competitive, Eric ended up racing a group of little kids, but one of them handed him his butt on a platter. I died laughing when Eric realized the kid was eight years old.

“The look on your face!” I said as we stopped to buy ice cream cones on the way to the Metro station. “I wish I’d taken a picture so I could blow it up. I’d post it on the bathroom wall so I could see it every time I sit down to pee.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Yuck it up. But I still say I had a crap boat. I mean, come on. You almost beat me. How else can you explain that?”

I burst out laughing. We got our cones and started walking, and I looked up at him as he took a bite. “Eric . . . thanks for today. You’ve been . . .” I paused. “I haven’t had this much fun all summer.”

“Not even with Math-Eww?”

I laughed and shook my head. “It’s a very close second.”

He pumped his fist into the air. “I’m the champion at something.”

My smile softened. “Yeah. You’re the champion of something, all right.”

And I was pretty sure my brother had helped me make a decision I hadn’t planned to make.

Which meant I really was crazy.