“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.
“Nash Westbrook Hawthorne,” Xander boomed. “Prepare yourself for a bracing, celebratory hug of manly joy!”
Xander did not, in fact, give Nash time to prepare before crashing into him—hugging, grappling, wrestling, attempting to hoist Nash into the air, it was all the same. Jameson joined the melee, and Grayson forced everything else to fade away as he clapped a hand on Nash’s shoulder—then pulled him backward.
Three on one. Nash didn’t stand a chance.
“Impromptu bachelor party!” Jameson declared when the four of them finally broke apart. “Give me an hour.”
“Stop.” Nash held up a hand, then followed his first who’s-the-oldest-brother-here order with a second. “Turn.” Jameson obliged, and Nash fixed him with a look. “You planning on breaking any laws, Jamie? Because you’ve been on quite a kick lately.”
To Grayson’s knowledge, there had been an incident in Monaco, another in Belize…
Jameson gave a little shrug. “You know what they say, Nash. No charges filed, no harm done.”
“Is that what they say?” Nash replied, his tone deceptively mild. And then, inexplicably, Grayson found himself on the end of Nash’s look.
What did I do? Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t bring us here for your own sake.”
Nash leaned back. “You accusin’ me of a being a mother hen, Gray?”
“Them’s fighting words,” Xander said happily, altogether too pleased at the prospect.
Nash cast one last look at Grayson, then turned back to Jameson. “Impromptu bachelor party,” he agreed. “But Gray and Xan will help you plan—and tree house rules.”
What happened in the tree house stayed in the tree house.
CHAPTER 5
GRAYSON
Their night ended at three in the morning. “Ice-climbing, skywalk, speedboat, mopeds…” To Grayson’s ears, Jameson sounded very satisfied with himself. “Not to mention clubbing.”
“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.