IT WAS STRANGE not seeing Mathieu on my doorstep the next morning. The ache in my chest made me wish I had reconsidered, but I knew I’d made the right choice. It was living with it that sucked.

When I reached his apartment, I pressed the button and a buzzer sounded. “Come on in,” a male voice said. It didn’t sound like his voice, but I figured it was just speaker distortion, so I was surprised to see Etienne when I knocked on the front door.

“Bonjour, Sophie.”

“Etienne. What are you doing home? Don’t you have swimming today?”

“The pool water needs . . .” His face scrunched as he tried to figure out the right words, then gave up. “It’s closed.”

“Oh. Is Mathieu here?”

“Non.” He stepped to the side, unblocking the doorway. “But you can come in.”

My heart hurt a little, but I walked in and headed for the piano, pulling out my music as I walked. I was dying to know where Mathieu was, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t any of my business.

“Do you think I could stay later today? I’m supposed to play for my music teacher at two o’clock.” He looked confused, so I added, “I’m going to video-chat her.”

“I have to leave for a little while, but you can stay.”

“Thank you!” I pulled out my laptop. “Also, can I get your Wi-Fi password?”

He nodded and gave it to me, and I typed it in so I’d have it ready for when I needed to call Miss Lori.

I started my warm up, the fingering so rote and mindless that I began to think about the night before. It had quickly turned into a nightmare.

Thomas tried to kiss me again after the first disaster kiss. I backed away from him, giving him the hint I wasn’t open to his PDA, but the moment the fireworks finished, he got to his feet and hauled me up with him.

“I like you, Sophie,”

I was about to tell him I liked him too—just not the way he liked me—but Eric stepped between us.

“Keep your hands off my sister,” he snarled.

Thomas backed up and started speaking in rapid-fire French to my brother.

“Eric!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “What are you doing?”

“Watching out for you.”

“I don’t need you to watch out for me! I can take care of myself.”

I turned around to apologize to Thomas, but he and Camille were now in a heated conversation. Not long after, he left without saying anything to me, and Camille berated Eric for his brutish behavior all the way home.

In a nutshell, it had been a lovely night of family bonding.

So now Camille and Eric weren’t speaking to each other, and Dane thought Eric had lost his mind. I tried to think positive: at least Camille had turned her disdain on to someone else, and Dane was leaving in four days.

Which meant Jenna was coming in five.

And once she came, boys wouldn’t matter. I’d spend all my free time with my friend.

I soon lost myself in my music. Mathieu’s mother’s suggestion had really helped, and now that my fingers had the timing worked out, it sounded awesome. Yet something was missing. I hoped Miss Lori could help me figure out what it was.

I still needed to work on the other two pieces, but for the first time I thought I might actually have a shot at winning a spot at the conservatoire.

Before I knew it, my alarm went off, letting me know my call was in fifteen minutes. I’d been sitting at the piano for over four hours, and I needed to get up and walk around and pee. I’d packed a sandwich, so I pulled it out and ate it as I stood and stretched my aching back muscles.

“Etienne?” I called out. “Are you home?”

He didn’t answer, so I figured he was still gone.

As I finished the last bites, I wandered down the hall, feeling like a trespasser as I looked for the restroom.

Mathieu’s apartment was like Eva’s—the toilet was in its own closet. So after I peed, I found the bathroom and washed my hands, then dared to peek into the doorway directly across from me. Through the partially open door, I could see posters of swimmers tacked to the walls. The full-size bed was unmade, but the rest of the room was fairly clean. This was obviously Etienne’s room, and I wondered if the door a few feet down led to Mathieu’s room.

I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but I was overcome by the desire to at least see some small part of him.

The door was almost all the way closed, but a soft nudge pushed it open enough for me to get a glimpse. The walls were a soft gunmetal gray, and a black duvet covered the full-size bed. A dark wood desk was pushed up against the wall, and a neat pile of books was stacked in a corner. I was dying to see what they were, but I’d already invaded his privacy enough without crossing the threshold.

On the wall opposite the bed was a TV attached to the wall and a dark wood console with a game system and controllers. There was a partially open window opposite the door, covered in white gauzy curtains that fluttered in the breeze.

I missed him so much my chest hurt.

That was stupid, right? I’d only known him for several weeks, yet he was such a huge part of my life here. He was the reason I’d given Paris a chance. This one summer in Paris was supposed to be nothing more than a forced trip to see my father. I hadn’t expected to fall in love.

Oh no. I was falling for Mathieu Rousseau.

Tears filled my eyes. I had the absolute worst luck.

A sudden ringing in my pocket made me jump. It was my alarm giving me a five-minute warning for my call with Miss Lori. I carefully closed the door to Mathieu’s world and went back out into the living room so I could open the video-call app on my laptop.

Miss Lori called me less than a minute later, and I tried to forget about Mathieu. I needed to focus on this call and on my music. Miss Lori was a middle-aged woman whose love for what she did was obvious from her bubbly, outgoing personality. She’d been my piano teacher ever since we moved to Charleston, so she greeted me warmly and congratulated me for earning the audition.

“What can you tell me about Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in B Minor Op. 32?” she asked.

“I couldn’t find much,” I said, too ashamed to admit I hadn’t spent a lot of time trying. “But I know it was Rachmaninoff’s favorite piece he wrote.”

“True. Did you by any chance pull up Valentina Lisitsa’s performance?”

I grinned, knowing she was teasing me. Valentina Lisitsa was my idol. “Of course.”

“And do you remember what she said on her YouTube posting? She called it depression in manifest form. Now play it for me, Sophie.”

I moved the laptop so she could see my fingers, then held my fingers over the keys. Suddenly I knew what was missing from the piece. I hadn’t attached it to my soul yet.

I closed my eyes and began the soft, haunting melody, the minor chords tugging at my aching soul. The first two minutes of the piece were a slow build to the heavier, faster movement that captured Rachmaninoff’s frustration and desperation. I poured my heart into it, conveying through the music my profound sadness over my father, Mathieu, my feud with Camille, and my homesickness for my mother. It all bled through my fingertips onto the keys, so when I finished the last notes a little over five minutes later, I felt like I’d laid my soul bare.

I held my fingers over the keyboard as the last haunting notes faded with the pedal, then took a deep breath and waited for Miss Lori’s feedback. But she hadn’t said anything after several long seconds, so I began to wonder if I’d lost the connection with her. I turned to face the computer, surprised to see awe in her eyes.

“Oh, Sophie. You have far surpassed my expectations with this piece. No wonder Madame Rousseau invited you to audition. It was stunning.”

I shook my head. “No. When she heard it, I was still working on the technical pieces. That was the first time I connected my heart to it.”

“My darling, you will wow them, not only with the technicality but also the emotion. Brava.”

She had me play a few portions over again and offered some fingering suggestions. “Do you have the music for the other two pieces?”

“No, I plan to get them this afternoon.”

“Your technique has improved since you played the Mozart Sonata a year ago. It will help that you’re familiar with the piece, but go after it like it’s new. We can schedule some video lessons after you’ve gotten familiar with it again.”

“And the Chopin etude?” I asked. “It’s brand new.”

“I think you’ll be fine with it. It’s a lesser-used piece for auditions, which is in your favor. It’s the sonata that will be the make-it-or-break-it selection. You have a lot of ground to cover to make the entire nineteen minutes sound uniform. I read the information you forwarded. You’re fortunate that you don’t have to memorize it.”

I took a deep breath, my nerves getting the better of me.

“You’re going to do very well, Sophie. I must admit, while it would be quite a feather in my cap to have one of my students accepted to Conservatoire de Seine, I would be sad to lose you.”

I shook my head with a wry grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it all I’ve got, but I have no expectation of getting in.”

“You’ll do very well. I’m very, very proud of you, Sophie, whether you make it or not.” She sniffed and then smiled. “Work on filling out the packet, and ask me if you have any questions. I’ll email you my letter of recommendation.”

“Thank you.”

Etienne still wasn’t back when I finished my call, so I texted Eric and told him I was going to head to the music store before I went home. He ended up going with me. Camille and Dane were giving him the cold shoulder, so he was eager to leave the apartment and go to the Latin Quarter.

I practiced the Chopin etude on the keyboard after dinner that night, so I felt ready to tackle it with the real piano the next morning.

Etienne let me in again, but took off as soon as I entered the apartment. He’d obviously been waiting for me. While I felt bad about detaining him, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him he didn’t have to let me in anymore. Now that I’d decided to audition, I needed all the practice I could get, which included practicing on a real piano. I decided to text Mathieu later to work something out with him.

I divided my five hours in parts—the first two hours were devoted to the Chopin etude and the second two hours to the sonata. At the end I played the Rachmaninoff piece twice and worked on more of the etude. When I finished, I sat back on the bench and took several deep breaths, trying to reassure myself that I could do this. That this wasn’t insane.

“That was beautiful, Sophie,” Mathieu said from behind me.

I stood and spun around to face him. “Oh. You’re here.”

He sat in a leather chair, his eyes locked on mine. I had a hard time reading his expression. It seemed guarded, yet . . . hopeful.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to realize you’re learning something new. You’ve picked it up very quickly.”

“No.” I looked down and blushed. “I learned it last year, but I didn’t learn it for any type of competition. Miss Lori told me to attack it like it was a new piece.” I shrugged and gave him a grin. “So I’m trying to make the interpretation new and pretending I just happen to be good enough to know most of the fingering.”

His mouth tipped up into a small smile. “So you’ve picked your pieces?”

“I think so.”

“Would you like my mother to look them over? Give you some advice?”

I shook my head. “That feels like cheating.”

He looked down at that, his cheeks red.

I stood and slung my bag over my head. “I should probably go.” I wanted to talk to him. But my heart broke all over again each time I looked into his deep blue eyes. I didn’t think we could be just friends. Being so close to him made me want more. I started for the door. “I’ve got to go.”

He jumped to his feet. “Sophie.”

I paused, my chest tight. It was taking everything in me to walk away. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to leave if he kept me there much longer.

“My mother has tickets to a concert at Sainte-Chapelle tonight. A pianist is performing a Beethoven sonata at eight thirty. Would you like to go?”

I ran my hand over my head, fighting the urge to cry. The guy who had broken my heart wanted to give me tickets to attend a concert at the very place that had stolen my father from me. Was this some cosmic joke? “I don’t know who would go with me.”

“No,” he said softly. “I want you to come with me.”

I refused to look at him. I couldn’t do this again. “You want me to sneak out?”

“Non, Sophie. I want to come to Camille’s apartment—not the door on the street—to collect you and take you with me.”

My mouth dropped open as I turned to face him. “Is this because I’ve decided to audition?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, it’s because I don’t want to miss another minute with you.” He paused, his hand twitching at his side. “Will you go to the concert with me? Please?”

This was too good to be true. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

His face scrunched in confusion. “The concert is today.”

“No, a date. You know . . . where you go out with someone.”

Understanding lit up his eyes. “Oh. We have no word for date.”

“What? How can that be? How do you get to know someone?”

“We go out with a group of friends.”

“Oh.”

He moved closer and stopped a couple of feet in front of me. “And in France, once you kiss someone, they are your boyfriend or girlfriend.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly. “I know you Americans date multiple people at one time, but in France you are only with one person.”

The meaning of his words hit me. Exclusive.

“I’ll go with you, but no more hiding, Mathieu.”

He lowered his voice. “In France, this isn’t so wrong. It’s not unusual for a couple to see each other and keep it from their friends.”

I looked up into his eyes. “Only one of us is French. The American part of us doesn’t want to hide it from anyone.”

A soft smile lit up his face. “The French part doesn’t want to hide it either.”

“Really?”

His smile spread. “Really.” He looked down and shifted his weight. “Is Eric coming to get you today?”

“No. I was going to walk back alone.”

“May I walk with you?”

“Uh . . . sure.”

He followed me out the door and down the steps, and by the time we’d made it to the sidewalk, I felt incredibly awkward. “Did you have a good Bastille Day?” I asked.

“Oui.” His tone suggested it wasn’t true, but he didn’t offer any more information. I didn’t ask.

“My friend Jenna is coming on Sunday.”

“I cannot wait to meet your friend Jenna. Tell me more about her.”

And just like that, the awkwardness fell away as I told him stories about my best friend of five years, several of which had him laughing. Before I knew it, we were at my door.

“What time will you pick me up?” I asked, suddenly nervous. This would be my first real date, even if Mathieu had claimed the French didn’t date.

“Nineteen thirty.” Then he laughed at my confused look. “Seven thirty.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten the French used military time. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

He nodded, but didn’t move. I wondered if he was going to kiss me, and maybe he was considering it, but ultimately he took a couple of steps back. “I look forward to our evening.” He gave me a little wave, then turned around. I stayed at the front door, my hand on the knob, and watched as he walked to the corner. Then he turned to look at me, and his grin was so wide and happy, it made me smile too.