The Brothers Hawthorne (The Inheritance Games, #4)(4)

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

Jameson ran a hand over Avery’s hair. Her head was still on his chest, but her eyes were open. “What look?” he asked softly.

“Our look.”

Avery’s brain was just as wired for puzzles as his was. That was exactly why Jameson couldn’t risk letting the silence and stillness close in, why he had to keep himself occupied. Because if he let himself really think about Prague, he’d want to tell her, and if he told her, it would be real. And once it was real, he feared no amount of distraction would be capable of holding him back, no matter how reckless or dangerous pursuing this might be.

Jameson trusted Avery with all that he had and all that he was, but he couldn’t always trust himself to do the right thing. The smart thing. The safe thing.

Don’t tell her. Jameson forced his mind down a different path, banishing all thoughts of Prague. “You got me, Heiress.” The only way for him to hide anything from Avery was to show her something else. Something true. Misdirection. “My gap year is almost over.”

“You’re restless.” Avery pulled back from his chest. “You have been for months. It wasn’t as noticeable on this trip, but on all the others, when I’m working…”

“I want…” Jameson closed his eyes, picturing himself back at the falls, hearing the roar—and eyeing the railing. “I don’t know what I want. Something.” He looked back out the window, into blackness. “To do great things.”

That was a Hawthorne’s charge, always—and not great as in very good. Great as in vast and lasting and incredible. Great like the falls.

“We are doing great things,” Avery told him. Giving away his grandfather’s billions was it for her. She was going to change the world. And I’m right here with her. I can hear the roar. I can feel the spray. But Jameson couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that he was standing behind the ropes.

He wasn’t doing great things. Not in the way she was. Not even in the way Gray was.

“This will be our first time back in Europe,” Avery said quietly, leaning forward to look out into the black, same as him, “since Prague.”

Very perceptive, Avery Kylie Grambs.

There was an art to the careless smile. “I’ve told you, Heiress, you don’t need to worry about Prague.”

“I’m not worried, Hawthorne. I’m curious. Why won’t you tell me what happened that night?” Avery knew how to use silence to her advantage, wielding each pause to command his full attention, to make him feel her silence like breath on his skin. “You came home at dawn. You smelled like fire and ash. And you had a cut”—she brought her hand to the place where his collarbone dipped, right at the base of his neck—“here.”

If Avery had wanted to force him to tell her, she could have. One little word—Tahiti—and his secrets would have been hers. But she wouldn’t force this, and Jameson knew that, and it killed him. Everything about her killed him in the best possible way.

Don’t tell her. Don’t think about it. Resist.

Jameson brought his lips within a centimeter of hers. “If you want, Mystery Girl,” he murmured, heat rising between them, the name a remnant of another time, “you can start calling me Mystery Boy.”





CHAPTER 4





GRAYSON


It had been years since Grayson had stepped foot in London, but the flat looked just the same: same historical facade, same modern interior, same twin terraces, same exquisite view.

Same four brothers taking in that view.

Beside Grayson, Jameson cocked an eyebrow at Nash. “What’s the situation, cowboy?” Grayson had been wondering the same thing. Nash almost never used his yearly nine-one-one.

“This.” Their oldest brother plunked a velvet box down on the glass-top table. A ring box. Grayson found himself suddenly unable to blink as Nash flipped it open to reveal a remarkable piece: a black opal wrapped in intricate diamond leaves and set in platinum. The flecks of color in the gemstone were electric, the workmanship without peer. “Nan gave it to me,” Nash said. “It was our grandmother’s.”

Nash was the only one of them with memories of Alice Hawthorne, who’d died before the rest of the Hawthorne brothers were even born.

“It wasn’t her wedding or engagement ring,” Nash drawled. “But Nan thought it would suit Lib.” Nash bowed his head slightly. “For that purpose.”

Lib as in Libby Grambs, Nash’s partner, Avery’s sister. Grayson felt a breath catch in his throat.

“Our great-grandmother gave you a family ring for Libby,” Xander summarized, “and that’s a problem?”

“It is,” Nash confirmed.

Grayson expelled the breath. “Because you’re not ready.”

Nash looked up and cracked a slow and devious grin. “Because I already bought her one myself.” He plunked a second ring box down on the table. One by one, the muscles over Grayson’s rib cage tightened, and he wasn’t even sure why.

Jameson, who’d gone unnaturally still the moment he’d seen the first ring, snapped out of it and flicked open the second box. It was empty.

Nash already proposed. He and Libby are already engaged. The realization hit Grayson with startling force. Everything is changing. That was a useless thought, obvious and overdue. Their grandfather was dead. They’d all been disinherited. Everything had already changed. Nash was already with Libby. Jameson was with Avery. Even Xander had Max.