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Started reading
February 13, 2024
“Invest. Cultivate. Create,”
I wondered if this was what Pandora had felt like the moment she opened the box.
Est unus ex nobis. Nos defendat eius.
“You’re not the boss of me? It’s something like that. No, wait, I remember! It’s You’re not the boss of me, wanker.”
“I’ll be happy to discuss all of your personal shortcomings,” Jameson told Grayson. “Alphabetically and in great detail. Let’s just get through this first.”
“I don’t do vulnerable,” Thea retorted. “It clashes with my bitch aesthetic.”
Nan killed her husband. Zara cheated on both of hers. Skye named her sons after their fathers, and at least one of them was a dangerous man. Tobias Hawthorne bribed Nash’s dad to stay away. Jameson watched Emily Laughlin die.
“Like, even in fiction, friends to lovers? Never my thing. I’m more star-crossed tragedy, supernatural soul mates, enemies to lovers. Epic, you know?”
“Watch where you’re aiming those cheekbones, buddy.”
The tendency to guard my heart—and the ability, once those guards were down, to love fiercely, deeply, unapologetically. Unafraid.
The last time I’d been to the Hawthorne vault, I’d jokingly asked Oren if it contained the crown jewels, and his very serious response had been To what country?
“You’re Hawthornes. Who knows how to crack a combination lock?” The answer was all of them.
“Finding Nan,” Xander explained to Eve, in what appeared to be an attempt to cheer her up, “is a bit like a game of Where’s Waldo, except Waldo likes to jab people with her cane.”
“Praying?” Nan grumbled. “More like giving our Maker a piece of my mind.” “My grandfather built this chapel so Nan would have someplace to yell at God,” Jameson informed me.
