Page 7 of Hero's Heart

Sloane would’ve loved to just sit there and gaze for a while. Not as much as she would love a nap, but still…

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you sleep on the plane? I did.”

“It’s a little more difficult to sleep in a middle seat with strangers on either side of you. Just give me two hours. I’ll never make it clubbing tonight if I don’t get a little rest.”

Marissa hadn’t mentioned clubbing, but Sloane knew it was inevitable, given her sister.

Marissa stuck out her lip in a pout. “I don’t want to waste any of my time in Paris. We only have two weeks. Don’t be selfish, Sloane.” It was all Sloane could do not to laugh at the audacity of that statement as she stared up at her sister in her designer blouse that screamed wealth. “We’re in Paris! You can sleep when you’re dead.”

Sloane took in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle her stomach. Jet lag was a real thing, and it wasn’t like she’d had much sleep before their flight either. Marissa had needed her to run a ridiculous number of errands for the past few days.

“I might be dead sooner than you think if you don’t let me sleep.”

“You know what? That’s fine.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane allowed herself to believe her sister meant it. That without William and Clarice constantly whispering venom into her ear, Marissa might finally be willing to be reasonable. That maybe, just maybe, they could beactualsisters.

She should’ve known better.

“I’ll just call Daddy and tell him this isn’t working out. That you’re not keeping up your end of the bargain. I’m sure he still has Detective Whitman’s number on speed dial.”

A chill ran through Sloane’s veins at the mention of the officer’s name. It had been a long time since anyone had voiced that threat to her face—but even when unspoken, she could always feel it lingering just beneath the surface.

She stood, attempting to shake off her exhaustion. “Maybe I just need a coffee. Like you said, we’re in Paris.”

“Perfect.”

Marissa looked her up and down then started riffling through her suitcase, tossing discarded choices everywhere. Things Sloane would have to pick up and put away later.

Finally, she shoved a dress into Sloane’s hands. “Put this on. You can’t show up looking like some charity case in your thrift-store rejects.”

“I’m fine with what I have,” Sloane said quietly. She wasn’t wearing Marissa’s clothes.

Marissa huffed, exasperated, but let it go. “Just hurry up.”

Sloane pulled her long black hair into a messy bun, splashing some water on her face in the bathroom. She caught sight of her own crystal-blue eyes in the mirror—definitely her most unique feature.

And what Marissa hated most about her. Even when Sloane had shown up at the Getty mansion at just shy of eighteen—homeless, penniless, desperate for enough money to bury her mother—Marissa’s only thought had been how unfair it was that Sloane’s eyes were more striking than hers.

Never mind that Marissa’s eyes were a warm, lovely brown, or that the two of them were near mirror images in every other way. It didn’t matter. Sloane had something Marissa couldn’t steal, couldn’t buy, and couldn’t bear. Something she was convinced was better.

Sloane would have traded their eye colors in a heartbeat if it meant easing Marissa’s simmering resentment. If it meant she could finally be seen as a real member of the family instead of a barely tolerated outsider.

But that was a fantasy as impossible as escaping the reality she’d walked into. How could she have known that showing up on her biological father’s doorstep would feel less like a reunion and more like stepping into a trap? One she’d never escape.

She turned from the sink and, a few minutes later, was following Marissa out the front door. “Do you have a place in mind, or should we look up somewhere to go?”

“We’re going to a café just down the street. Danielle and Courtney are meeting us.” Marissa slipped on her designer jacket as they walked down the narrow side alley. “They happen to be in Paris too. Isn’t that perfect?”

Sloane gritted her teeth. Danielle and Courtney weren’t supposed to be here. She knew them well, Marissa’s two self-absorbed best friends who often encouraged her bad behavior. William would never have approved it, so, of course, Marissa just hadn’t asked. She’d just leave it for Sloane to clean up any messes they made.

As usual.

The café was nestled on a bustling cobblestone street, its wrought-iron chairs and marble-topped tables exuding Parisian charm. Sloane tried to take in the scenery, the romance of it all, but Marissa’s high-pitched laughter kept pulling her attention back.

Marissa, Danielle, and Courtney sat together, their heads close, whispering and giggling. Sloane perched on the edge of her chair, nursing her coffee, feeling like an outsider.

“Oh my God, do you see that skirt?” Courtney sneered, tossing her sleek blonde hair over her shoulder.

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