Title Page

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2020 by Elle Marr

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542006057

ISBN-10: 1542006058

Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

Dedication

For Kevin

Contents

Contents

Start Reading

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Start Reading

I was too young that time to value her,

But now I know her. If she be a traitor,

Why so am I: we still have slept together,

Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, eat together;

And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans,

Still we went coupled and inseparable.

—William Shakespeare

I smile because you are my sister.

I laugh because you can’t do anything about it.

—Unknown

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Day 1, Sunday

Come to Paris. Your sister is dead.

The rest of the words from Sebastien’s email fade against these opening sentences. The world slams to a halt—again—and I suck in another stupid, shocked breath as though it’s the first time I’m reading his email instead of the eighty-second.

“Nous sommes arrivés, mademoiselle.” The cab driver speaks to me without turning, wide charcoal eyes peering curiously through the rearview mirror. He yanks the parking brake. Stubby fingers push buttons on a digital console displaying the cost of my trip from the airport in euros. The route to Montmartre passed in a blur despite unrelenting morning traffic. Children run wild on the sidewalk beside us, high on summer vacation, fast food wrappers trailing their bands of twos and threes. The urban doorways of this northern pocket of Paris alternate between adult film rental businesses and glass panes leading to residential apartments. Voices rise above the engine’s rumble, words in French carrying through the window; a couple examines an accordion on a collapsible table.

I hesitate before locking my phone, then logic reigns; I count out what I owe. One thing I truly appreciate about Europe: unlike American currency, euros correlate in size to their value; the tiny ten-cent coins are dwarfed by the fifty-cent pieces, which are half the weight of the euro coins. I couldn’t care less about the precise artistry of the European continent on each face.