"So," Nash says, "what's the deal with you, Trouble?"
I frown. "No deal. And that's the second time you're calling me that. Drop it. The name's Camille."
"Noted," he says, but his amused tone suggests that this note will be forgotten in no time.
"You don't stay here for long," I say. It's not a question, more of a statement— and he picks up on it. We walk along a corridor.
"I don't enjoy the bragging of rich people too often. It gets boring after a while," he answers, and I snort.
"Right. And you're not one of them?" He grew up as the grandson of a billionaire. This might as well be his ego talking.
"Please." He looks at me, something unidentifiable in the way he speaks. "All the money belongs to you now."
Uncomfortable, I look away. "I don't feel like a rich person. I don't feel rich at all." I don't want to act like a rich person. I don't want to become the person I'd loathe.
"It'll get to your head soon. It always does." Nash Hawthorne seems to speak from experience. I wonder who he means, but it seems to hurt all the same.
"I have you to make sure it doesn't." I nudge him, not sure where my confidence comes from, but I like him. He's less shitty than the rest of this family.
He grins at me in response. "I think we're gonna make good friends."
We've reached the end of a hall and I prepare myself to see evidence of a brawl. Instead, I see Grayson and Jameson standing on opposite sides of a library that takes my breath away.
The room is circular. Shelves stretched up fifteen or twenty feet overhead, and every single one is lined completely with hardcover books. The shelves are made of a deep, rich wood. Spread across the room, four wrought-iron staircases spiral toward the upper shelves, like the points on a compass. In the library's center, there's a massive tree stump, easily ten feet across. Even from a distance, I can see the rings marking the tree's age.
It takes me a moment to realize that it's meant to be used as a desk.
I could stay here forever, I think. I could stay in this room forever and never leave.
"So," Nash says beside me, casually eyeing his brothers. "Whose ass do I need to kick first?"
Grayson looks up from the book he's holding. "Must we always resort to fisticuffs?"
"Looks like I have a volunteer for the first ass-kicking," Nash says, then shoots a measuring look at Jameson, who's leaning against one of the wrought-iron staircases. "Do I have a second?"
Jameson smirks. "Couldn't stay away, could you, big brother?"
"And leave Camille and Avery here with you knuckleheads?" Until Nash mentions my name, neither of the other two seem to have registered my presence behind him, but I feel my invisibility slip away, just like that.
"I wouldn't worry too much about Miss Diante," Grayson says, his voice sharp. "She's clearly capable of taking care of herself."
Translation: I'm a soulless, gold-digging con artist, and he sees right through me.
"Don't pay any attention to Gray," Jameson tells me lazily. "None of us do."
"Jamie," Nash says. "Zip it."
Jameson ignores him. "Grayson is in training for the Insufferable Olympics, and we really think he can go all the way if he can just jam that stick a little farther up his—"
"Enough," Nash grunts.
"What did I miss?" Xander, my favourite Hawthorne brother, bounds through the doorway. He's wearing a private school uniform, complete with a blazer that he sheds in one liquid motion.
"You haven't missed anything at all," Grayson tells him. "And Miss Diante was just leaving." He flicks his gaze toward me. "I'm sure you want to get settled."
His tone, his voice— it makes me angry. Technically , I'm the billionaire now, and he's still giving orders. What an asshole. (Not the billionaire part, just the giving-me-orders part.)
"Wait a second." Xander frowns suddenly, taking in the state of the room. "Were you guys brawling in here without me?" I still see no visible signs of a fight or destruction, but obviously, Xander has picked up on something I haven't. "This is what I get for being the one who doesn't skip school," he says mournfully.
At the mention of school, Nash looks from Xander to Jameson. "No uniform," he notes. "Playing hooky, Jamie? Two ass-kickings it is."
Xander hears the phrase ass-kicking, grins, bounces to the balls of his feet, and pounces with no warning, tackling Nash to the ground. Just some friendly impromptu wrestling between brothers.
"Pinned you!" Xander declares triumphantly.
Nash hooks his ankle around Xander's leg and flips him, pinning him to the ground. "Not today, little brother." Nash grins, then flashes a much darker look at the other two brothers. "Not today."
They are—the four of them—a unit. They are Hawthornes. I'm not. I feel that now, in a physical way. They share a bond that is impervious to outsiders.
"I should go," I say. I don't belong here, and if I stay, all I would do is stare.
"You shouldn't be here at all," Grayson replies tersely.
"Stuff a sock in it, Gray," Nash says and I look at him with relief. "What's done is done, and you know as well as I do that if the the old man did it, there's no undoing it." Nash swivels his head toward Jameson. "And as for you: Self-destructive tendencies aren't nearly as adorable as you think they are."
"Camille solved the keys," Jameson says casually. "Faster than any of us."
For the first time since I walked into the room, all four brothers fall into an extended silence. What is going on here? I wonder.
The moment feels tense, electric, borderline unbearable, and then—
"You gave her the keys?" Grayson breaks the silence.
I'm still holding the key ring in my hand. It suddenly feels very heavy. Jameson wasn't supposed to give us these.
"We were legally obligated to hand over—"
"A key." Grayson interrupts Jameson and started stalking slowly toward him, snapping the book in his hand closed. "We were legally obligated to give them a key, Jameson, not the keys."
I'd assume that I'm being messed with. At best, I'd think it was a test. But from the way they're talking, it seems more like a tradition. An invitation. A rite of passage.
"I was curious how she'd do." Jameson arches an eyebrow. "Do you want to hear her time? Avery was almost as fast as she was."
"No," Nash booms. I'm not sure if he's answering Jameson's question or telling Grayson to stop advancing on their brother.
"Can I get up now?" Xander interjects, still pinned beneath Nash and seemingly in a better humor than the other three combined. There's a reason he's my favourite.
"Nope," Nash replies.
"I told you she was special," Jameson says and grins as Grayson continues closing in on him.
"And I told you to stay away from them." Grayson stops, just out of Jameson's reach.
"So I see that you two are talking again!" Xander comments jollily. "Excellent."
Not excellent, I think, unable to draw my eyes away from the storm brewing just feet away. Jameson is taller, Grayson broader through the shoulders. The smirk on the former's face is matched by steel on the latter's.
"Welcome to Hawthorne House, Trouble." Jameson's welcome seems to be more for Grayson's benefit than for mine. Whatever this fight is about, it's not just a difference of opinion on recent events.
It's not just about us.
"Stop calling me that." I've barely spoken since the moment the library door has swung inward, but I'm getting sick of playing spectator. "My name is Camille."
"I'd also be willing to call you Miss Trouble," Jameson offers. He steps forward into a beam of light shining down from a skylight above. He is toe-to-toe with Grayson now. "What do you think, Gray? Got a nickname preference for our new lovely landlady?"
Landlady. Jameson is rubbing it in, like he can handle being disinherited if it means that the heir apparent has lost everything, too.
I frown, trying to characterise him. He could be a year younger than me, maybe my age. Always on the edge, never quite satisfied. He keeps trying to get Grayson to show emotion, to react— he wants to provoke the hit rather than waiting for it to slowly build up. He wants to have control over his opponent's feelings, and provoking them is the only real way he has it.
"I'm trying to protect you," Grayson says lowly.
"I think we both know," Jameson replies, "that Miss Trouble over there is not something I need to be protected of."
Grayson goes completely, deathly still. I hold my breath, fuck knows why, and I wait.
"Xander." Nash stood, pulling the youngest brother to his feet. "Why don't you show Camille to her wing?"
That is either Nash's attempt to prevent a line from being crossed or an indication that one already has been.
"Come on." Xander bumps his shoulder lightly against mine as he leads me outside. "We'll stop for scones on the way."