One Paris Summer (Blink) Page 3

  We finished lunch, and after Dad paid the bill, we walked out into the misty drizzle.

  Eva handed a lanyard with a key to Eric. “This is your key to the apartment. The fob will get you through the electric entrance doors. You and Sophie are free to wander around and investigate, but I wouldn’t go too far today with your jet lag.”

  “I don’t have jet lag,” Eric protested.

  Dad cast a quick glance at me, then released a short laugh. “Maybe you don’t, but Sophie looks like she’s about to pass out.”

  I shivered, feeling damp from the drizzle. “I’m fine.”

  “If you can make it for a few more hours, you can go to sleep tonight and most likely be on Parisian time tomorrow.”

  “William.” My father’s name rolled off Eva’s tongue. “We need to go.” Eva grabbed my arms and pulled me close, kissing my cheeks. When she leaned back, she smiled softly. “Sophie, I really am happy you are here. I hope you give me a chance.”

  I didn’t answer. Part of me wanted to give her a chance. But I couldn’t say the words. Maybe later, but not now.

  She released my arms with a sigh, turning her attention to Eric. After she hugged my brother, Dad gave him a handful of money. “We won’t be home until after six. You have my cell number if you need me.”

  Eva grabbed a taxi, and we stood there on the sidewalk and watched them drive away.

  Eric stuffed the money into his front pocket. “Let’s walk over to the Eiffel Tower. He pointed to my left. “That way.”

  I froze on the sidewalk. “We can’t walk around Paris on our own! Are you crazy?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sophie, we’re not five years old. Besides, Eva gave us her blessing.” He used air quotes to emphasize blessing.

  I could see the entrance to Eva’s apartment building several doors down, and even though I didn’t really want to go back up there, the thought of wandering around a city where I couldn’t even speak the language with no working cell phone of my own—Eric was the only one who got international minutes—freaked me out. “No way.”

  Eric pointed to the Eiffel Tower. “It’s only a few blocks away. We’re both capable of reading street signs and I can speak a little French.”

  Maybe so, but I’d seen the movie Taken, and while Eric wasn’t a shrimp, I was 99 percent certain he couldn’t single-handedly take on a human trafficking ring. “I don’t want to walk around,” I said. “I just want to go to bed.”

  “Dad said to stay up.”

  At the moment, Dad was the last person I wanted to listen to. “If I try to go on a walk, I’ll pass out on the street, and you’ll have to carry me back and up three flights of stairs.”

  “That’s what you think,” Eric said, laughing, but then rolled his eyes. “Who lives on the fourth floor with no elevator?”

  “Crazy people,” I grumbled as I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from shivering. “I don’t want to walk because it’s wet and cold.” My short-sleeved T-shirt was already damp.

  “You’re full of excuses.” People were walking past us on the sidewalk and giving us strange looks. “Look. Let’s use the money burning a hole in my pocket to get you a jacket and umbrella.” When I shot him a questioning look, he shrugged and grinned. “Hey. He never said what to spend it on.”

  I snorted. “You think you’ve got enough there to buy a piano?”

  He laughed again. “You sure gave Dad crap today.”

  My eyebrows lifted. “You don’t think he deserved it?”

  “Oh, I think he deserved it. It’s the fact that you were the one doing it that caught me off guard. Back home you barely ever fought with him. Of course, you were always his favorite.”

  Anger burned in my gut. “No. I wasn’t.” When he started to protest, I interrupted him. “Yeah, I thought we were close. But he shot that out of the water the day he drove away.” I shook my head in disgust. “He obviously doesn’t love either of us very much. He hasn’t come back once, not even for your big basketball game.”

  That struck him silent. “Fair enough,” he finally said, looking into my eyes.

  “Why do you want to hang out with me, anyway? Back home you can’t ditch me fast enough.”

  His grin returned. “I guess we’ll be forced to spend a lot of time together this summer if Camille really is our tour guide.”

  “So is this like conditioning for all the hours you’ll be forced to spend with me over the next few weeks?”

  “Sure. Consider it that.” He laughed again, and I suddenly realized we hadn’t felt this easy together for a long time. It was kind of nice. “But I don’t plan to hang out with you girls all summer. After we get the lay of the land, Dane and I will do our own thing.”

  Dane. With everything else going on, I’d almost forgotten he was joining us in two days. At least I had something to look forward to.

  We stopped at a store with women’s clothing in the front window. I found a sweater I liked, but nearly fell over in shock after we figured out the euro-to-dollar conversion.

  “That’s probably worth more than half of my Paris wardrobe,” I whispered to him. “I’ll just go back to the apartment and get one out of my suitcase.”

  “No you won’t.” Eric pulled it off the rack and handed it to a sales clerk. “I’m not going back and climbing those stairs. Dad owes us.”

  He paid for the sweater and an umbrella, nearly wiping out his supply of money. He grinned when he handed me the sweater.

  “This feels like I’m saying ‘In your face,’ ” I said as I shoved my arms into the sleeves. I gave him an evil smirk. “Now I really love it.”

  He opened the door to the shop, smiling and shaking his head. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

  The rain had stopped by the time we started walking again. I had to admit that Paris was charming. It was like historic Charleston in some ways—full of older, well-maintained buildings. But here, there were so many more of them.

  Eva had told us Paris was laid out in twenty numbered sections called arrondissements. The first was in the middle of the city on the Right Bank—the north side of the Seine River—and the other sections spiraled out clockwise. Eva lived in the 7th Arrondissement, which was on the Left Bank, or south of the Seine, right near the part where the river curved around. She said her apartment had been in her family for three generations. As we walked, we noticed that most of the buildings were five or six stories tall with shops at the bottom and apartments on top. The streets were narrow, and while there were cars, most of the people who were out and about seemed to be on foot. Eva had warned us that everything was more expensive in the 7th, especially clothes and anything we might want for souvenirs. Cheaper items could be found in the Latin Quarter. Which made my stomach flutter with anxiety when I thought about what Dad would say when he found out how much money Eric had spent on my sweater.

  Now that I thought about it, it was even more shocking that Eric had spent the money on me.

  We trudged along in silence for several minutes until Eric pointed up at the ornate trim and balconies on the buildings. “Dane is going to freak out.”

  “Why?”

  “He wants to be an architect. He can’t wait to get here and check out the buildings.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I think Dad’s going to let him come spend a day at Sainte-Chapelle.”

  “Isn’t that awesome,” I grumbled. Dad had abandoned us hours after picking us up from the airport, but he already had plans with Eric’s friend. I knew my jealousy was stupid, but it burned in my gut anyway. “Why do you think Dad made us come this summer?” I asked.

  Eric seemed to consider my question. “Because it would be weird if his kids weren’t at his wedding.” He paused. “And maybe he really does want to spend time with us.”

  “Well, I don’t want to spend time with him.” At least not when it was only on his terms.

  “Then don’t. Hang out in Paris all summer.” I heard an excitement in his voice I hadn’t he
ard before.

  “That’s what Jenna said.”

  “Wow. Jenna and I have something in common.” His words were clipped, my cue that he was done with my complaints.

  It wasn’t long before we reached the edge of a park, the Eiffel Tower jutting up into the sky above us.

  “It’s bigger than I thought,” Eric said with something like awe.

  “Yeah . . .” The excitement I felt caught me by surprise.

  The tower had always looked impressive in movies and pictures, but it felt so different to be here, standing at the base of something so monumental. There was a huge crowd gathered beneath it, and people strolled on sidewalks surrounding huge patches of grass. The rain clouds had become a lighter gray, and a few rays of sunlight broke through.

  And in that perfect moment, I wondered if things might turn out all right after all.

  CHAPTER Four

  I WAS SO, so wrong.

  Since we’d spent so much money on my sweater and the umbrella, we didn’t have enough money to buy tickets to go up the Eiffel Tower, causing me a moment of regret for the extravagant purchase. It was the one thing I really wanted to do while I was in Paris.

  Eric and I walked back to the apartment, stopping by a coffee shop for a caffeine boost to help keep us awake for several more hours. By the time we climbed the stairs to the apartment, I was exhausted.

  Eric said he was going to play Dad’s Xbox, so I decided to check out my temporary room. Considering my soon-to-be stepsister already lived in it, it was surprisingly impersonal. There was a dresser between the two beds, and I picked up one of two photos perched on top. Eva and a man were sitting in the picture, his arm draped around a young teen girl. Her black hair and dark eyes were so similar to Eva’s, I would have recognized her as Camille even if Eva hadn’t shown me a different picture of her. Based on the background, the photo could have been taken anywhere. Who was the man? Eva’s previous husband? I knew she had been widowed a couple of years ago, but not much else.

  The other photo was of a young girl with an older woman, standing in a vineyard. The girl looked like a preteen Camille and bore a resemblance to the woman. Was she Camille’s grandmother? I set the frame on the dresser and looked around. Other than the photos and several textbooks stacked up next to the bed on the left, there was nothing else that told me anything about my new roommate. Only that her room was very different from my warm, cozy room full of throw pillows back home—it made me wonder how different she was from me.

  Camille’s clothes filled the dresser and the cabinets that lined the wall next to the door. The cabinets reminded me of something I’d seen in the demo apartments at Ikea. Finally, I turned my attention to the closet. I learned two things from riffling through the hanging clothes—one, Camille’s clothes were much more sophisticated than my own, and two, judging from the lack of storage space, I might be spending the next two months living out of suitcases. I pulled out a dark gray dress that looked like it belonged to a businesswoman, not a seventeen-year-old girl, and held it up in front of me, wishing I had a mirror to see how it would look on me. I hung the dress on the closet door, then turned my attention back to the closet. Nope, no space.

  After hugging me good-bye at the airport, my mother had whispered in my ear that there was a present tucked into my suitcase to remind me of home. Suddenly I needed that piece of home. I lay one of my bags on the floor and unzipped it, digging through my clothes. After flinging a small heap of belongings onto the floor, I finally found it: a jar of peanut butter. I smiled even though tears burned my eyes.

  I missed my mom. If one good thing came out of my father’s abandonment, it was that we’d gotten closer.

  A sudden wave of exhaustion hit me, and I lay down on the bed, still cradling the plastic jar. I closed my eyes, telling myself that I’d rest for just a moment. But when I opened them, I found myself staring into the face of the girl in the photos. Only now she looked several years older and not nearly as friendly.

  She broke into a string of French, and although I didn’t know what she was saying, it was pretty clear she wasn’t happy.

  I sat up and blinked. “I don’t understand you.” Why had I never considered the fact that Camille might not speak English?

  She stopped ranting and put one hand on her hip. She narrowed her eyes and pointed a long finger at me. “Stay out of my things.”

  “You speak English,” I said in surprise.

  “And I take it you speak no French at all.”

  “No.”

  She released another angry tirade I couldn’t understand, then took a deep breath and switched to English. “You Americans are all alike—you think the world revolves around your pathetic country, and it shows in how you behave.” She pointed to the open closet door with her dress still hanging on it. “That is mine. Stay out.”

  I crossed my legs on the mattress and shook my head in confusion. “I was only looking. I didn’t do anything to your stuff.”

  “You touched my dress!” she shouted, pulling the dress off the door.

  “It’s a dress, for cripes’ sake. Calm down!”

  “Did you try it on?”

  This girl was unbelievable. I jumped to my feet, getting angrier by the minute. “Yes. I put it on naked and rolled around in it. And I haven’t showered for days.”

  “Heathen!” she screeched.

  Eva appeared in the doorway, her eyes wild with worry. Turning to Camille, she spoke in French accentuated with angry gestures. Camille answered back, flinging her hand toward me as she spoke.

  “I’m standing right here!” I shouted.

  Camille spoke in her native tongue, but Eva held up her hand. “Camille, speak in English. And we don’t have time for this. Dinner is ready.”

  Camille balled her hands into fists and released a cry of frustration, then stomped out of the room.

  Eva gave me an apologetic look. “I see you met Camille.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  She was silent for a moment and then sighed. “My daughter is taking this situation just as badly as you are.” She offered me a soft smile. “I apologize for her behavior.”

  I wanted to argue that Camille appeared to be taking it worse, but opted to keep my mouth shut.

  Camille shouted something in French and the front door slammed.

  Eva put her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling before lowering her gaze to mine. “She’s going to spend the night with her friend Marine.”

  I supposed it was wrong to let Eva see how relieved I was to hear that.

  “Camille is having trouble adjusting to all of this. Give her some time to get used to you being here,” Eva said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you two will become friends by the end of your holiday.”

  I wasn’t holding my breath.

  CHAPTER Five

  THE WEDDING OF Eva Mercier to William Brooks was a small, quiet affair. Thankfully, only eighteen guests were present, three of which were the children of the bride and groom. An hour and a half before the wedding there was some question as to whether there would only be two, but Camille stormed through the apartment door fifty minutes before we needed to leave for the church.

  I was in the bathroom finishing my makeup when she threw the door open and glared at my reflection in the mirror. We might have had a communication barrier, but I had no problem interpreting her intent.

  I made one last swipe with my mascara wand and—heaving a heavy sigh—grabbed my cosmetic bag and started to leave the room. When I reached the opening, she blocked my path, her eyes burning with hatred.

  I forced a smile. “If you want me to leave so you can use the bathroom”—I slowed my speech and enunciated every word—“you need to get out of the way.”

  “I think we need to make some things clear,” she said in her perfect English. She had even less of an accent than her mother.

  This girl pissed me off, but I wasn’t about to let her see that. I put a hand on my hip, jutting it out for effe
ct. “Yes, I agree.” I lifted my eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, then said sweetly, “Since I seem to be the only one with manners, why don’t you go first, Camille?”

  Anger flickered in her eyes before her expression settled into simple disdain. “This is my home. You are a guest here.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “I may have to share a room with you, but it’s my room. You’re only borrowing a bed.”

  “How gracious of you.”

  “And you will not touch my things again.”

  I held up my free hand, clutching my cosmetic bag against my stomach with the other. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good,” she said in a hateful tone. “Then maybe you will survive the summer.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I pulled back my shoulders so I could look into her dark brown eyes. Thankfully, she was only a couple inches taller than me. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. So we only have to endure the summer, then we can both go back to our regular lives.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she stayed in the doorway, looking like she was about to throttle me. Perhaps she expected me to cower in fear, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

  “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to let me out?” I tilted my head and gave her a blank look that was intended to convey indifference.

  She backed out of my way, then brushed her shoulder into mine as I walked past. She slammed the door behind her, and I stood in the hall for a moment, wondering why this girl hated me so much.

  My father, dressed in his wedding finery, was standing in the open doorway to his bedroom.

  I ignored the worried look on his face and marched into my—correction, Camille’s—room and dug a dress out of my suitcase. Of course it was wrinkled. After I put it on, I went into Eric’s room and found him with an open book.

  I stood in the doorway, my eyes widening in surprise. “Are you actually reading?”

  He shrugged and put it down. “I found it in the bookcase. It’s a Tom Clancy novel. In French.”