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“Sometimes,” Jameson Hawthorne said, sounding strangely contemplative, “things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core.”
“I can see that,” Nash replied softly. “But if you decide you’d like to give me a name? I’d take it.”
Avery, I can personally guarantee that Nash will not ax-murder you or allow you to be ax-murdered by anyone else while I’m gone.”
“You’re protective,” Nash commented, “and you seem like you’d fight dirty, and if there’s one thing I respect, it’s those particular traits in combination.”
I could stay here forever, I thought. I could stay in this room forever and never leave.
Just some friendly impromptu wrestling between brothers.
Self-destructive tendencies aren’t nearly as adorable as you think they are.”
“I’d also be willing to call you Heiress,” Jameson offered.
“Fine,” Xander replied cheerily. “You drive a hard bargain, Grayson Hawthorne. No cookies.” Xander winked at me. “We’ll stop for scones.”
“It is not until the third—nay, fourth—scone that you develop any kind of scone-eating expertise.” “Scone-eating expertise,” I repeated in a deadpan.
“I do hate you,” Xander replied, happily devouring his third scone. “If you notice, I have kept the blueberry confections for myself and given you”—he shuddered—“the lemon-flavored scones. Such is the depth of my loathing for you personally and on principle.”
“There’s a chance that Hawthorne House is just a tiny bit hard to navigate. Imagine, if you will, that a labyrinth had a baby with Where’s Waldo?, only Waldo is your rooms.”
“It’s never too soon to start trash-talking.”
“Everything’s a game, Avery Grambs. The only thing we get to decide in this life is if we play to win.”
“He left you the fortune, Avery, and all he left us is you.”
Jameson, Better the devil you know than the one you don’t—or is it? Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. All that glitters is not gold. Nothing is certain but death and taxes. There but for the grace of God go I. Don’t judge.
How many ways did rich people have of not saying the word rich?
“Grandfather always said Hawthorne males have nine lives. I can’t possibly have burned through more than five of mine.”
“I hate to puzzle and run, Mystery Girl.…” Jameson’s hand was already on the door handle as the SUV pulled to a stop. “But the last thing you need on your first day at this school is for anyone to see you getting cozy with me.”
“There are no losers in Robot Battle Death Match Fight Club,” Xander said stoically. “There are only winners and people whose robots sort of explode.”
“You look like you could use a robotic dragon,”
“Hawthorne-born or Hawthorne-made, there’s always something to be played.”
“Everyone is a little wrong sometimes, Heiress.”
“Is it still a lie,” Jameson asked loftily, “if you’re masking what matters, but what you’re saying is technically true?”
“Can’t an older brother spend time with his younger brother and an interloper of dubious intentions without getting the third degree?”
“I’m such a delicate flower.” Jameson’s tone was light, but his eyes told a different story. “In need of protection and constant supervision.”
“Heiress and I,” Jameson replied pointedly, “are following a hunch, doubtlessly wasting sinful amounts of time on what I’m sure you would consider to be nonsensical flapdoodle.”
“It’s up to the interloper of dubious intentions.”
“All right, Heiress.” Jameson flashed me another wild smile. “As you wish.”
“Avery doesn’t bite.” For once, Jameson referred to me by my actual name. “Frankly, now that the issue of relatedness has been settled in the negative, I’d be game if she did.”
Everything is something in Hawthorne House.
“Because if you don’t tell the story, someone else will tell it for you.”
“Can I have one of the blueberry scones?” I asked—my version of a peace offering. Xander handed me a lemon scone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“You might think you’re playing the game, darlin’, but that’s not how Jamie sees it.” Nash’s voice was gentle enough, but for the words. “We aren’t normal. This place isn’t normal, and you’re not a player, kid. You’re the glass ballerina—or the knife.”
“Come now, Heiress,” Jameson said, stepping toward me. “You’re better than that.”
“Coast is clear.” Jameson didn’t specify what it was clear of. “Do you trust me?” I was standing in a phone-lit passageway, close enough to feel his body’s heat on mine. “Absolutely not.” “Good.” He reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me close. “Hold on.”
“I need you.” Jameson knew exactly what he was doing—the way he was looking at me, the tilt of his lips. “I don’t know why yet, but I do.”
“You are the puzzle, Mystery Girl.”
“It wasn’t because my Jamie is brilliant or beautiful or charismatic. It was because Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry. He’s looking for something. He’s been looking for it since the day he was born.” She downed the rest of the champagne in one gulp. “Grayson is everything Toby wasn’t, and Jameson is just like him.”
“There’s no one like Jameson.” In no way had I meant to utter those words out loud.
“You see?” Skye gave me a knowing look—the same one Alisa had given me my first day at Hawthorne ...
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“Why, Heiress,” Jameson murmured, “I thought you’d never ask.”
Adrenaline. Euphoria. Fear. There wasn’t room in my head for anything else. Speed was the only thing that mattered. That, and the boy beside me.
Nothing except Jameson Winchester Hawthorne and me.
Jameson was hungry. And so am I.
“Does your way involve robots and scones?” “What doesn’t?”
“Her story”—Xander sighed—“involves star-crossed love, fake dating, heartbreak, tragedy, twisted familial relationships, penance, and a hero for the ages.” I gave him a look. “Are you serious?” “You should know by now,” Xander replied lightly, “I’m not the serious Hawthorne.”
“Have I ever told you,” Jameson murmured, staring at me in a way that had to be intentional, “that I’m a sucker for bad ideas?”
“But…” Jameson’s lips curved upward, his teeth flashing. “You’ll figure it out.” He brought his lips near my ear. “We will, Heiress.”
“What fun is it,” Jameson returned, “playing by other people’s rules?” He was looking at me like he expected me to understand that. Understand him.
