Page 17

W HEN NERVOUSNESS OVERCOMES ME, MY GREATEST GIFTS change into weapons I use against myself. Overthinking. Hyperfocus. Leaving nothing to chance. I lock on Jackson, reading his posture—relaxed, yet not overly casual—and the measured hum of his voice, his words indiscernible from my vantage.

My stomach squirms. I ski closer, more aware of the cold stinging my cheeks than when I was on the slopes. While I’m clipping out of my skis and climbing the stairs up to the deck, Jackson excuses himself from Leonie.

His gaze meets my nerve-stricken expression. When he reaches me, he leans in—gently, easily—and presses a kiss to my temple.

My relief is physical, probably visible. She didn’t drive him away. Everything isn’t ruined.

Then Jackson murmurs in my ear.

“Got it.”

Instantly, I remember what I meant to focus on. What I should’ve focused on. What I discussed with Jackson when I slipped into his room at seven forty-five in the morning, knowing his visit into the vault was what we needed to further the heist’s foundational phase.

Information on the vault. In-person inspection of the model, the door, the rough size.

We decided specific questions on dimensions or materials would raise suspicion, but Jackson’s goal was to prolong his visit in the dungeon with inconspicuous conversation for long enough to commit as many details as he could to memory.

Got it.

Of course he did.

Jackson slips his hand into mine. I wonder if he feels my pulse pounding in my palm. It’s important he relay everything he’s memorized to Grace immediately. While I’d love to get my hands on the combination, I won’t pin the heist on it. We need to be ready to crack the vault if needed.

“Olivia. A word, please.”

My grandmother waits. Watching us.

Her interruption is an order. Not a question.

My heart sinks to the snow-caked deck. Leonie nods once in the direction of the lodge. And to imagine, I was looking forward to retreating inside for the chalet’s warmth. In Leonie Owens’s company, I doubt I’ll feel it.

“Of course, Grandmother,” I say hollowly.

I rush to come up with the excuse I’m going to need if Jackson raised suspicions while inspecting the vault. His mother works… in bank security? No—easy to disprove. He’s interested in engineering?

Jackson releases my hand.

“I’ll find Grace,” he promises me.

I nod.

Then I follow my grandmother—who unsurprisingly has not waited for me—into the lodge. I only feel suffocated and sweaty in the heat.

While we’re not the only people in the spacious room, it’s empty enough for private conversation. I take my seat in one of the white chairs near the fire crackling in the high-sculpted hearth.

My grandmother is hard to read, but I note she doesn’t look displeased, exactly. After she’s settled her skirt in the seat near mine, she folds her hands in her lap.

“I got to know Jackson on our tour,” she announces. “I have to admit, I quite like him.”

I don’t want to look caught off guard, not in front of her. It’s just—well, I’m caught off guard.

Leonie continues, ignoring the surprise I’m concealing poorly. “He’s smart and exceptionally kind. He cares about you a great deal. He’s quite a rare find,” she says.

I regain my composure. Everything my grandmother is saying is exactly how I would describe Jackson.

I mean, it’s how I have described Jackson.

I remember my shy confessionals to my mom two years ago, describing the guy I’d hoped would come over and do homework with me more often. “Yes,” I reply. “I know.”

I feel pride glow in my chest. I shouldn’t care what my grandmother—my mark, the matriarch who ignored me when I needed her—thinks of my boyfriend. But I’m glad to know Jackson’s value is clear to everyone, not just me. Even the shrewdest Owens knows there’s nothing counterfeit in his worth.

“You should end things now,” Leonie says. “Before they’re serious.”

I freeze.

Indignation sets in when the shock wears off.

“Excuse me?” I reply. Controlling my temper is not easy.

The retorts on the tip of my tongue would probably have Otto dumping me outside in the snow.

“You just gave a speech about how money is a curse,” I continue instead, “and now you’re going to say someone isn’t good enough for me just because he doesn’t come from wealth? ”

“I said nothing about where he comes from,” Leonie points out.

No, she… didn’t. I wait, wary. I remember her words from dinner. Pity, Olivia. I would hope you’d have chosen more wisely.

“There is nothing wrong with that boy,” she says slowly, enjoying my incomprehension. “Any girl would be lucky to have him. The problem, Olivia”—she stares right into my eyes—“is you.”

Suddenly, I feel very small. While I’ve never held delusions of my grandmother loving me, the criticism is enough to stun me silent. I sit, the Alps in the windows facing me like inquisitors. My grandmother’s words don’t just hurt—she’s deftly uncovered my deepest insecurity.

“How, exactly?” I press. Composure is harder now. Every minute with Leonie is like a minute in the snow with nothing protecting me from the ruthless chill.

My grandmother’s expression remains pleasantly neutral. As if we’re discussing the weather.

“He has a good heart,” she observes. “You’re an Owens. You’ll ruin him.”

You’ll ruin him.

Ever since the day Jackson found me clutching my father’s wedding invitation in my mother’s old kitchen—when he flinched from my vengeance—doubts like the ones Leonie has just voiced have plagued me.

You’ll ruin him. The echo I ignore in every murmured I love you .

The shadow in the corner of my happiest days with Jackson.

He met the real me that day, and he flinched from her plans for vengeance.

You’ll ruin him.

Leonie’s gaze changes from impassive to unflinching. I should have known she could defeat my every defense. It’s like fighting the worst version of myself.

I shift involuntarily in my seat. The floorboards creak under my chair. The small sound helps, reminding me of my surroundings, of who I’m speaking to.

My grandmother wants to rattle me. It doesn’t matter that she’s repeated my own worst fears with uncanny precision. I won’t weaken under her criticism.

“You don’t know anything about me, Leonie,” I say.

My grandmother doesn’t react to my usage of her name.

“Perhaps not,” she returns calmly. “I do know something about men like Jackson, though. I ruined one myself. My husband.”

Her eyes finally move away from mine. Pain pierces her voice. The first I’ve heard from my grandmother. Fresh, as if she and my grandfather hadn’t been divorced for the thirty years before his death. As if she’d lost him yesterday.

I say nothing. While her fondness for her ex-husband surprises me, I understand it.

My grandfather Andrew was the one Owens I ever loved without reservation, and the only Owens who’d unconditionally loved me.

I remember his patience where my father was reckless, his determination where my father was disinterested. His kindness.

He was good-hearted. Like Jackson.

I ruined one myself.

I don’t understand my grandmother’s comment. She didn’t ruin Andrew Owens. I remember the visit to his Pennsylvania mansion I didn’t realize would be my last. The sparkle in his eye, his earnest inquiries into how I enjoyed first grade. He remained noble and warm until the end.

Unless…

Unless Leonie means she ruined them . Their marriage. Their relationship. You should end things now. Before they’re serious.

Of course she does. She means she’d ruined their love with her darkness— our darkness. The Owens curse. He’d seen who she really was, and he’d left. She’d ruined the gift of my grandfather’s goodness.

The thought spreads in my veins like poison.

Worse, Leonie knows I understand her. Her gaze softens on me. Sympathetic, or perhaps just patronizing.

“Let him go before the day comes when you have to choose. Yourself or Jackson,” she counsels me. “Because if you’re an Owens, you’ll choose yourself. Your father did. I did. It’s in your blood.”

She stands from her seat. I don’t.

Before she leaves, she pats my shoulder softly. Her hand is cold.