One Paris Summer (Blink) (13 page)

Mathieu groaned and muttered something in French before heading toward the intersection to cross the street away from the river. Deciding to call it a win that I’d made it this far, I followed. Once he realized I’d let him take over, he wasted no time in walking the several blocks toward the apartment building, turning down a different street than the one Eric had told me to use.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face me. “I’ve known Camille since we were small children. I live six blocks from her. I know where I’m going.”

I supposed I deserved his snotty reply, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “It was just a question.”

He shook his head, muttering in French as he turned around and continued walking. He stopped outside the front door of the apartment building and waited for me to pull the key out from under my shirt.

I opened both front doors, then led the way upstairs. When I had a little trouble with the lock on the apartment door, Mathieu said, “May I?” sounding irritated.

“Be my guest.” I stepped aside and made a wide sweep with my arm.

He pulled the handle and put his weight into turning the key before he pushed the door open.

Thank God. I wasn’t sure I could spend another minute with him.

I walked past him and tossed my bag onto the floor next to the keyboard, plopping down in the hard-surfaced kitchen chair I’d swapped days ago for the dining room one.

Mathieu’s look of surprise when he saw the keyboard confirmed he was acquainted with the apartment, which meant he knew where to find his mysterious envelope better than I did.

I ripped the headphone jack out of the side, relieved that I didn’t have to wear the headphones. I needed to hear the music, even if the electronic sounds weren’t the same.

I was pissed at Camille. Mathieu. Dane. My brother. But most of all my father.
He
was the reason I was here.
He
was the reason I had to play on this stupid keyboard.

I’d spent the last several days working on
Warsaw Concerto
. I still hadn’t figured out why Miss Lori had given it to me. It had been written by Richard Addinsell for a 1941 movie,
Dangerous Moonlight
. I liked it because there were parts I could pour my anger into. It wasn’t a terribly difficult piece, but it was tricky, especially with the plastic keyboard. I was only about halfway through with marking all the fingering.

I started to play, making multiple mistakes, but I forged on anyway, needing to exercise my demons rather than focus on technical proficiency. I’d screwed up an arpeggio section and pushed on to the trills, which in fairness I’d only marked the
fingering on the night before. But my fingers kept slipping off the slick keys and my irritation grew until I smashed my palms into the keys.

It was only then that I realized Mathieu stood in the living room doorway, holding an envelope. His eyes locked with mine, and my face burned with embarrassment.

“You play,” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, although that was
quite
bad.” It wasn’t a ploy for a compliment. I knew it wasn’t anywhere close to good. I was still working on muscle memory.

“How long have you been working on it?”

“Four days.”

His mouth dropped. “You’ve learned that much of it in four days?’

I blinked in surprise and shrugged. “I’ve been working on it here for the last several days—like hours and hours—and a couple of days at home before I left. But this stupid keyboard.” I slammed my fingers onto the keys to play a string of arpeggios, then rested my hands in my lap. “My father promised to make sure I had a piano to play if I came here for the summer. This is what I got.”

“The
Warsaw Concerto
has its difficult parts.” It looked like it pained him to admit it.

My mouth dropped open. “You know it?”

“My mother teaches piano.”

“Oh.” That was surprising. “Do you play?”

“Not well.” A wry grin spread across his face. “Much to her disappointment.”

I looked at the sheet music, trying to focus on the numbers I’d written over the notes to tell me which fingers to play. I wasn’t sure how to handle a non-hostile Mathieu. I liked him a little too much for my own good. “I have a competition in the
fall I am supposed to be preparing for. It’s for a scholarship. But now I’m at a disadvantage.” I was rambling, yet I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. “So the only thing I can really do is learn the fingering and hope the rest falls into place after I get home.”

He sucked in a breath and pushed it out as though he were about to perform some Herculean task. “I’m probably going to regret this, but I think I can help you.”

I tensed. Was this some kind of trick? “How?”

He grimaced. “I have a piano. A nice one. You can play it.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You can come tomorrow morning after my mother leaves. My younger brother will be gone until late morning at swim practice, but if you’re still there, he won’t care. You can play for a few hours and be back before Camille and your brother leave for whatever they have planned for the day.”

I gawked at him in disbelief. “What’s the catch?” The thought of hours alone in Mathieu’s apartment made my pulse race a little, and it wasn’t entirely because of his piano.

“No catch, other than you can’t tell Camille.”

That was no surprise. “I can live with that.”

“Tomorrow, meet me outside at eight and I’ll take you to my apartment.” Then he walked out the front door without a backward glance.

I couldn’t help wondering if I’d made a deal with the devil.

THE NEXT MORNING
Mathieu was waiting for me on the sidewalk outside the front door. His back was against the building and he was staring at a
pâtisserie
across the street.

He turned to me, his face guarded. “Have you eaten?”

“What?” I shook my head. “No.”

Without a word, he jaywalked across the street and went into the bakery. I followed.

“What do you like here?” he asked, looking in the glass case.

“I don’t know. I haven’t eaten here.”

His eyes widened. “You’re kidding. It’s one of the best in the city. What about when you stayed home the last few days?”

“I just stayed in the apartment and practiced.”

He said something in French, then pointed to the case. “What would you like?”

“I didn’t bring any money.”

“I didn’t ask if you had money. I asked what you wanted.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m getting something, and it would be rude to eat something delicious in front of you, so what would you like?”

I considered arguing, but I was hungry. I’d left before I had a chance to eat. Besides, I was in a pastry shop with a cute French boy who wanted to buy my breakfast. I couldn’t turn that down.

The case was filled with delicious-looking confections, but I decided to go with something that looked familiar even if it had a name I didn’t recognize. What if I ended up with something stuffed with snails? They ate those here, right? But how could
I go wrong with a croissant stuffed with chocolate? “I’ll take a pain au chocolat
.
” I pronounced it phonetically.

He grinned. “It’s
pan oh choc-o-lat
.” The baker approached us and asked something in French, and Mathieu turned to me with a grin. “Now order it in French.”

“I don’t know French.”

He laughed. “I just told you how to say it. Try it.”

I repeated what Mathieu had said, and the woman pulled the pastry out of the case and put it into a bag before handing it to me. I didn’t catch the name of the round flaky pastry Mathieu ordered, but I did recognize what he ordered next. Cappuccino.

She made two and put them on the counter as Mathieu handed her money.

“How did you know I’d want a cappuccino?” I asked.

He grinned. “You can’t have
une pâtisserie sans café
.”

I stared at him for a moment, dazzled by his smile. I hadn’t seen it much since he’d found me on the subway platform. He truly was a gorgeous guy. The sunlight was behind him, making a shiny glow around his dark wavy hair. The blue in his shirt made his eyes more cerulean than usual. I forced myself to look away, confused by his actions as well as my own. I added a sugar packet to my cup, pretending it was fascinating to hide my embarrassment.

We walked in silence as we ate our pastries and sipped our drinks. I was surprised the cappuccino was better than any coffee I’d had back home.

Mathieu was leading me in the opposite direction from the Eiffel Tower.

“Where did you tell your brother you were going?” he asked.

“I told him I was going for a walk.”

“And if you’re gone for a couple of hours?”

The thought of playing a real piano for a couple of hours made me giddy. “I told him I wanted to explore. As long as I’m back by ten thirty, he won’t worry.”

“I’m surprised he let you go.”

I turned to look at him, wondering why he had that impression. Was it because of what happened the day before? “He doesn’t care what I do. Besides, he and Dane are pissed at each other right now. That has him preoccupied.” They had hardly spoken since they’d come home yesterday afternoon, but Dane was so besotted with Camille, he didn’t seem to notice.

Mathieu unlocked the front doors of his building and led me to an elevator. “We are on the fourth floor. You can take the small elevator or the stairs.”

“Which one are
you
taking?”

He grinned. “The stairs.”

“Lead the way.” I figured I could at least try to work off the pastry.

I was out of breath when we reached his landing, but less so than I would have been a week ago. Turned out Paris was full of stairs.

Mathieu handed me his now empty cup and unlocked the door. He took both empty cups from me as he pushed the door open. We entered a small entry hall, and then he led me through a door into a large room with a black grand piano.

I gasped and stopped in my tracks. “It’s a Steinway. How’d you get it up here?”

“It’s my mother’s. And they pulled it through the window. Go on,” he said, closing the door behind him and tossing the cups somewhere.

A wall of windows overlooked the building across the street. The bright morning sun filled the room, making the black gloss
on the piano shine. I had never seen anything so beautiful. “She won’t mind?” I whispered.

His eyes twinkled. “No.”

“Then why are we keeping it a secret from her?”

He scowled. “Camille.”

The mention of my stepsister almost destroyed my good mood. Almost. How could I be anything but happy when I was about to play a Steinway? I pulled my sheet music out of my bag and moved closer to the piano. This was too good to be true.

Mathieu propped open the lid.

“Won’t it be too loud?” The lid would muffle the sound a little bit, but my playing would likely be heard in all the apartments around us.

“They are used to it. Besides, they are all at work. Sit.”

I sat down on the bench and opened the fall—keyboard lid—then trailed my finger down the ivory keys. I glanced up at Mathieu, who stood to the side watching me. He nodded, the solemn look on his face indicating that he understood how special this was to me, and walked away.

I started with scales, letting my fingers warm up, reveling in the sound, marveling at the responsiveness of the keys. Steinways are one of the best for a reason, and I had never hoped to play one anywhere outside of a piano showroom. Once my fingers were loosened, I lost myself in the rich, powerful sound, ignoring the sheet music in front of me. I didn’t want to think about what I was playing—I only wanted to feel the music.

I’d made it through countless pieces before I glanced up and saw Mathieu standing at the piano’s side. I stopped and he said, “We need to leave if we’re going to be back by ten thirty.”

“But I thought I had almost two hours,” I asked, puzzled.

He smiled. “You’ve been playing that long.”

I’d been playing for almost
two hours
? I reverently closed the fall as Mathieu lowered the lid. I stood and grabbed the sheet music I’d never played, then stuck it in my bag. “Mathieu . . . this was . . . I don’t know how I can repay you. Thank you.”

He smiled softly. “Would you like to play again tomorrow?”

I sucked in a breath. “Are you serious?”

“You’re very good, Sophie. You need to play on a real piano.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll play again tomorrow.”

How could I say no to that? “Okay.”

He led me back down the stairs and out the front door. I looked up at him with surprise. “You don’t have to walk me back, Mathieu.”

He grinned. “Your brother told me I had to watch out for you. I wouldn’t want to face him if something happened to you.”

“He doesn’t even know you’re with me.”

“All the more reason for me to make sure you get back safely. No one but me knows where you are.”

The scaredy-cat part of me had to agree with him, even though I felt confident I could make it back okay. But I liked spending time with him, not that I’d admit it. I wasn’t going to argue with him.