“I thought the medieval crypt was a nice touch,” Xander added.
Grayson arched a brow. “I suspect Nash could have gone without being duct-taped.”
The man of the hour took off his cowboy hat and leaned against the wall. “What happens in the tree house stays in the tree house,” he reiterated, his quiet tone reminding Grayson that Avery and Libby were asleep upstairs.
A lump rose in Grayson’s throat. “Congratulations,” he told his brother. He meant it. Life was change. People were supposed to move forward, even if he could not.
Jameson and Xander stumbled to bed, but Nash held Grayson back. When it was just the two of them, he placed something in Grayson’s hand. The ring box. The one with their grandmother’s black opal ring.
“Why don’t you hold on to this?” Nash said.
Grayson swallowed, the muscles in his throat tight. “Why me?” Jameson would have been the obvious choice, for obvious reasons.
“Why not you, Gray?” Nash leaned forward, putting his gaze level with Grayson’s. “Someday, with someone—why not you?”
The ring was still in its box on his nightstand when Grayson woke up hours later. Why not you?
Grayson pushed himself out of bed and briskly tucked the box into a hidden compartment in his luggage. If Nash wanted the heirloom ring kept safe, he’d keep it safe. Protecting things that mattered was what Grayson Hawthorne did, even when he couldn’t afford to let them matter too much.
Out on the terrace, Avery was already up, helping herself to an impressive breakfast spread. “I hear last night was the stuff of legends.” She handed him a cup of coffee—black, hot, and filled to almost overflowing.
“Jamie has a big mouth,” Grayson replied. The mug warmed his hand.
“Trust me,” Avery murmured, “Jameson knows how to keep secrets just fine.”
Grayson studied her, the way he wouldn’t have allowed himself to months earlier. It didn’t hurt quite the way it would have then. “Is he spiraling?”
“No.” Avery shook her head, and her hair fell into her face. “He’s just looking for something—or trying not to look for something. Or both.” She paused. “What about you, Gray?”
“I’m fine.” The response was automatic, rote, and brooked no argument. But he could never quite seem to stop there with her. “And for the record, if Xander shows you a ‘book’ he’s been writing, you will destroy it, or there will be consequences.”
“Consequences!” Xander jackrabbited onto the terrace, wriggled between them, and snagged a chocolate croissant. “My favorite!”
“Who among us doesn’t love the taste of consequences in the morning?” Jameson ambled out, helped himself to a croissant, and waved it in Grayson’s general direction. “Avery tell you about her new meeting schedule? London officially knows the Hawthorne heiress is in town.”
“Meetings?” Grayson picked up his phone. “What time?” A call came in before Avery could reply. When Grayson saw who was calling, he abruptly stood. “I need to take this.” He strode back inside, closed the door, and made sure he hadn’t been followed before he answered.
“I assume we have a situation.”
CHAPTER 6
JAMESON
Fascinating.” Jameson stared in the direction Grayson had gone. “Was that a hint of genuine human emotion on his face?”
Avery gave him a look. “Worried?” she asked. “Or curious?”
“About Grayson?” Jameson replied. Both. “Neither. It’s probably his tailor calling to make fun of him for being a twenty-year-old who has a tailor.”
Xander grinned. “Should I creep inside and eavesdrop on that phone call?”
“Are you implying that you’re even remotely capable of stealth?” Jameson retorted.
“I can be stealthy!” Xander insisted. “Clearly, you’re just still bitter at the extent to which my legendary dance moves blew everyone’s mind at the club last night.”
Refusing to take the bait, Jameson glanced at Oren, who’d joined them on the terrace. “Speaking of our little celebration,” Jameson said, “how bad is the paparazzi situation this morning?”
“British tabloids.” Oren’s eyes narrowed to slits. Avery’s head of security was former military and frighteningly capable. That he’d narrowed his eyes at all told Jameson that the paparazzi situation wasn’t good. “I’ve got two of my men patrolling out front.”