One Paris Summer (Blink) (8 page)

Eric and Dane took off after her, leaving me straggling behind. They were waiting for me at the entrance to the station, and Camille shot me a look of impatience before addressing all three of us. “It’s lunchtime and the station will be busier than this morning. We are taking the B train to the Luxembourg exit. Stay together so you don’t get lost.” She looked into my terrified face. “If you get separated, stop and stay exactly where you are, and I’ll come get you.”

Eric shot me a scowl. “Relax, Sophie. People ride the Metro every day. You’ll be fine.”

I knew he was right, but anxiety still prickled the hair on my arms. Camille led the way down the stairs and through the turnstiles, and soon we were weaving our way through tunnels and descending more stairs. Sure enough, the platform was much more crowded than it had been a couple of hours ago, and a train was already rolling in as we approached it.

Camille looked back to see if we were still following, then stepped to the side and pushed the boys in front of her. “Take that one,” she said, pointing to an open car.

People were spilling off it, but the guys plowed ahead. Camille slowed down and turned toward a group of young men. She pushed through a small opening between two guys, but before I could follow her, they moved closer together and closed the gap.

I nudged their shoulders tentatively. “Excuse me.” Panic descended as I watched Camille board the train.

But they ignored me until someone pushed me from behind. I stumbled into one of the guys, who gave me a dirty look.

“I have to catch that train!” I said, telling myself to calm down. But then I saw the doors close and the train started to pull away. My worst nightmare had come true.

I was lost in Paris.

I STOOD IN
place, forcing myself to take several breaths. Eric would just get off at the next station and come get me. I stepped backward until my back was pressed against the tile wall and waited, my fear rising with every passing second.

About ten minutes later, I was still waiting, proud of myself for holding it together for so long, but the tears burning my eyes were winning over my determination to be brave. I had no idea how to get back to Dad’s apartment building. I didn’t even have his phone number, not that my phone would work here anyway. I reached my hand into my pocket to see if I had a tissue and realized my money was gone. Panicked anew, I checked both pockets in my capris, only finding some lint. I’d been pickpocketed.

My terror ramped up about two hundred degrees and my imagination kicked into overdrive as to what could happen to me in the seedy underbelly of Paris. They never showed this part in their guidebooks.

After ten more minutes, people were openly staring. I would stop crying just to get scared all over again and start anew. One woman stopped to check on me, speaking in rapid French, but since her train was approaching and I couldn’t understand her, I waved her off.

“Do you make a habit of crying in public places?” a deep voice asked, and I turned to see the guy who had talked to me outside the restaurant after my father’s wedding.

My mouth dropped open in surprise. I had thought I’d never see him again. Maybe fate was on my side after all.

He was just as handsome as I remembered. Today he had on a gray T-shirt and dark jeans, both of which he filled out to perfection. His black hair was a little less unruly, but his blue eyes were just as bright and appealing.

“Not usually.” And that was all it took for me to start crying again.
Great.
I knew I had to look a hot mess, given the fact I’d been sobbing on and off for twenty minutes. There likely weren’t enough tissues in the world to fix my face. Not that I
had
tissues.

“Are you lost?”

“In a way.” I looked around. “My wicked stepsister ditched me here. Just moments after telling me I should stay where I was if I got separated from them, so call
that
a coincidence.” I couldn’t help adding the sarcasm. “I suspect she’s not coming back. She’s going to leave me down here to be eaten by rats.”

I took a deep breath, feeling less panicked now that he was here, although I wasn’t sure why. Even though my brother was right—I was overly cautious, and I knew it—being friendly with strangers still fell into the risky category. But for some reason, I didn’t feel my usual anxiety while talking to this guy. Maybe it was because he was my only lifeline at this moment.

His mouth quirked into an amused grin. “I think you are safe from the rats. I’ve never seen more than two at a time, and I think it would take more than that to eat you.”

I gasped. “Are there really rats down here?”

He didn’t answer, just slid off his backpack and dug out a napkin to hand to me.

I took it and blew my nose, none too ladylike.

He walked over and leaned against the wall next to me. “Do you intend to live down here now?”

I smiled despite myself. “Yes. I’ve already picked out that corner over there.” I pointed over my shoulder.

“Maybe instead of just standing around we should find some cardboard boxes for your bed.”

I laughed with him and then we fell silent for several seconds. Instead of acting rationally and asking him to help me figure out how to get to my dad’s apartment building, I racked my brain, trying to come up with something clever to say.
Think, Sophie. Think.

He tilted his head toward me, still smiling. “I’m hungry. Maybe we should get something to eat.”

Why did I have to travel to Paris, France, to meet a guy who was interested in me? The thought of going to lunch with him made me more excited than I expected. But as much as I wanted to go with him, I had to stay here. “I can’t. Surely my wicked stepsister won’t leave me here forever.”

“Maybe she won’t be back at all.”

Fear seized my breath. I had joked about it, sure, but Eric wouldn’t leave me here.

He saw my terror, then added softly, “Maybe she sent someone else to retrieve you.”

I squinted. “Who?” He gave me a patient look, and realization hit me like a freight train. “You.”

“Camille asked me to find you in the station and bring you to
Jardin du Luxembourg
.”

Anger superseded disappointment. The one good thing I’d found on my own in Paris had been tainted by evil Camille.

“What is this?” I stepped backward and gestured toward him. “She sent you here to humiliate me?”

“What?” His eyes widened in surprise.

“You didn’t tell me who you were at first because you wanted to see if I’d talk bad about her.” It was perfect. I had.

“Sophie, I—”

“You know my
name
?”

“I . . . Camille told me . . .” He groaned in frustration, then held out his hand and took a step toward me. “Camille knew I was changing trains here at
Saint-Michel
, so she asked me to find you. That’s all there is to it.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Did you know who I was that day?”

“At the restaurant?”

“Of course at the restaurant. Have you seen me anywhere else?”

“Sophie . . .” He swallowed, glancing at the train pulling up to the platform on the other side, then back at me, his face more serious. “I had no idea you were
le diable
”—he cringed—“Camille’s stepsister when I met you on Saturday.”

Great, she had a name for me. One that even I could translate. “Then how did you find me?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “You were the only girl crying on the B-train platform.”

“She told you I’d be
crying
?”

“Sophie.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Did she?”

He shrugged, then looked down. “Yes.”

Fury boiled my blood. She had told me she’d do anything to make me leave. She’d left me here knowing how upset I’d be. And this guy—this beautiful, tempting guy—was a part of it. Sorrow oozed in, but anger chased it away. “Who
are
you?”

He gave me a tentative smile. “Mathieu Rousseau.”

That smile asked me to trust him, but how could I trust the friend of a girl who so openly hated me? Her friends would be loyal to
her
. I clung to one last bit of hope. “Her
good
friend or an acquaintance?”

His brow wrinkled with confusion.

“You know . . .” I shook my head and waved my hands in frustration. “You only know her a little bit.”

He grinned at my gestures, and I dropped my hands to my sides.

“We have gone to school together since we were six. I know her very well.”

I pushed out a breath of disappointment.

“Can you continue questioning me on the train?” he asked, pointing to the arriving cars. “I’m hungry.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I never said I was going with you.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “So you’re staying here on the platform?” He tilted his head toward the staircase. “Maybe you can make the rats your pets and train them to do circus acts to make food money.”

I shuddered. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But for all I know this is some elaborate ruse to kidnap me for human trafficking.”

He gave me a curious glance that seemed to say
What the heck is she talking about?
but he wisely kept his mouth shut. I followed him onto the train. If I was sold into a harem somewhere, I hoped Eric would be eaten up with guilt for leaving me in the hands of a stranger. It would serve him right.

Mathieu found two empty seats that faced each other. He sat in one of them and I sat in the other, crossing my arms over my chest and looking out the window at the platform.

“I’m sure Camille didn’t mean to leave you there,” he finally said after the train started moving.

So he was one of
those
boys. The ones who were easily snowed into believing anything a pretty girl told him. That made it even worse.

“Sometimes she comes across . . .” He seemed to grope for the right word.

“Like a witch?” I asked. “She did this on purpose. She hates my guts. Deny it.”

He sighed and leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of his seat. “Camille is . . . complicated.”

“She doesn’t want me here, and it’s her mission to make my life miserable until I leave. There’s nothing complicated about that.”

“Maybe if you understood her better—”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He was silent for the rest of the short ride, just two more stops. We rose as the doors opened, and he stood behind me. He was tall enough that his mouth reached the top of my ear, and my hair blew gently against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he teased, “Maybe I should hold your hand so you don’t get lost again.”

Then he grabbed my hand, wrapping his fingers around the side of my palm. I wanted to jerk free, but when I saw the crowd waiting to get on, I clung tight. Protecting my pride wasn’t worth getting lost again.

He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling. I looked for a sign that he was making fun of me and found none. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he really
did
want to hold my hand.

I didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because he quickly exited the train and pulled me with him. His grip tightened as we pushed through the crowd, several people bumping into me in their hurry to board. After we made it through, he led me up a flight of stairs and out onto a busy street, then dropped his hold.

We walked side by side past a huge garden complete with a massive house. A large round lawn encircled a pointed statue. “Isn’t that it?” I asked.

“We’re going to the opposite end.” We were silent for several moments as we walked beside the gold and wrought iron fence, then he asked, “Where in the States are you from?”

I stopped on the sidewalk. “Look, while I appreciate you coming to get me, I don’t trust you.”

Surprise covered his face. “Why?”

“You’re her friend. She’ll do anything she can to hurt me. She’s already proven that by stealing my brother’s friend when she knows I like him, and . . . well, leaving me at the subway station.”

His smile fell. “She tried to take your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. I only want him to be.” I nearly groaned. Why had I told him that? What if he told Dane? “Look, bottom line, I really want to trust you, but I can’t.” Which broke my heart. What little interaction we’d had only made me want to spend more time with him, making me regret telling him about my interest in Dane even more.

His face hardened. “You think I would be part of some plan to hurt you?”

“Weren’t you?”

Resignation filled his eyes and he continued walking, leaving me on the sidewalk. I hurried to catch up. The garden was huge, so huge it took nearly five minutes before we got to the end of the block. Large rectangular patches of grass filled the space on this end of the lot, and there were several statues spaced every fifty feet or so. Multiple groups of what looked like high schoolers were spread in groups over the lawn, sitting on the bare grass or on towels or standing.

When we came to the end of the longest block I’d ever walked, Mathieu turned the corner, continuing until we reached an open wrought iron gate. We followed the crowd inside, but he didn’t stop to make sure I was still with him.