The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games, #1)

by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

“It would be best, for the moment, for you to just assume that I know everything.”

“Sometimes,” Jameson Hawthorne said, sounding strangely contemplative, “things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core.”

“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.

“She’s clearly capable of taking care of herself.” Translation: I’m a soulless, gold-digging con artist, and he sees straight through me.

“And as for you: Self-destructive tendencies aren’t nearly as adorable as you think they are.”

“It is not until the third—nay, fourth—scone that you develop any kind of scone-eating expertise.”

“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.

“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.”

“I’m a Hawthorne.” Xander gave me his most dignified look. “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.”

How many ways did rich people have of not saying the word rich?

Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

“Grandfather always said Hawthorne males have nine lives. I can’t possibly have burned through more than five of mine.”

*smiling

“I suggest you disown her if she opts for bangs.”

Meee

The stylists seemed to be developing a migraine. “Casual options?”

“Because if you don’t tell the story, someone else will tell it for you.”

gnashing, I ended up picking option three. I hated the word preppy almost as much as I disliked any claims to having an edge,

“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.”

“Oh, don’t be a prude, Abigail,” Skye admonished from inside the bathroom. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we? I make it a policy to befriend everyone who steals my birthright.” I’d never seen passive aggression quite like this.

The morality of an action depends, ultimately and only, on its outcomes.”

“If I were a boy,” Thea told him with a Southern belle smile, “people would just call me driven.” “Thea.” Constantine frowned at her. “Right.” Thea dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “No feminism at the dinner table.” This time, I couldn’t bite back the snort. Point, Thea.

“You know what the worst part is? I can’t even be mad at you, because someone tried to shoot you.”

I didn’t fall asleep until dawn. When I did, I dreamed about sleeping.

“I barely slept last night.” I tried for pity. “Someone tried to shoot me!”

“Maybe we should reschedule,” I said. “Due to someone wanting to kill me.”

Nothing said fairy tale like an attempted assassination.

“This party sucks. The socialite-to-scone ratio is pretty much unforgivable.”

I wasn’t in the mood for scone jokes.

What do you mean??

“You can’t leave yet!” I gave him a look. “Why not?” “Because…” Xander waggled his lone eyebrow. “They just opened up the dance floor.

Grayson let out a ragged breath, and then I felt him gently turning my face back toward his. “Avery.” He almost never used my given name. He gently traced the line of my jaw. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You have my word.”

My call got sent to voicemail. “This is Maxine Liu. I’ve been sequestered in the technological equivalent of a virtual convent. Have a blessed day, you rotten scoundrels.”