Page 35

I T TURNS OUT, A SHOWER AND A TWENTY-MINUTE NAP CAN WORK WONDERS for someone dealing with a possible patricide.

Between last night’s late meeting and snow polo, I was on the verge of crashing, which would have done the heist no favors.

I hate to lose a moment of this week to sleep, but I have to steel myself against exhaustion, doubt, and sloppiness.

It’s like our school counselors always say— in senior year, self-care is your greatest defense from burnout .

Sure, they meant getting ice cream between submitting college apps, but I appreciate the advice, nonetheless.

While I slept, cards were slipped under our door. Leonie’s favorite modus operandi for scheduling the week, I’ve noticed. Or Otto’s.

Tomorrow, our schedule announces, we travel to Norway for the day. Ms. Owens welcomes you to her Sonnfjord Inn. Those who wish to join should be ready with carry-on luggage for the six a.m. helicopter flight from Volenvell’s courtyard.

The final line intrigues me most. Owens family only.

The specification makes Leonie’s meaning clear. Immediate family—those who were born to Leonie’s surname. Only her children and grandchildren.

I wonder what Leonie is scheming. Of course, if I decline—faking sickness or exhaustion to remain in the castle, close to the vault—I’ll look suspicious.

Will my aunt and uncle make the same decision?

Will my father?

Mia will certainly be joining the family in Norway, which means Tom will be separated from her and unable to track her movements. I plan a meeting with him to strategize, arranging to meet far away from the current family teatime.

On my way past the empty ballroom, I hear Dash’s voice, muffled and indistinct. He’s standing outside in the snow, talking to—

Abigail.

Whatever my sister’s attitude toward Grandmother Leonie, I’m certain her feelings for our father are even frostier. There’s no way they’re chatting for some innocent, familial purpose. Which means Abigail arranged to speak to Dash… or Dash arranged to meet her.

Neither is good.

I have flashbacks to handcuffs and betrayal. Abigail-and-Dash is a combination I can’t permit.

I’m moving toward the door, deciding whether to intercede now or leverage my knowledge of their chat later, when a hand grabs my elbow. I turn to find Tom standing in the hallway. Wordlessly, he leads me into the nearest door.

Which is… a closet.

This one is just as small as the one in my Coventry house. Definitely dustier. I wonder if I’m breathing in thousand-year-old dirt. The real Owens heirloom. Shelves jut into my back, stacked, ironically, with cleaning supplies.

Tom pulls the overhead chain, a small amber light flicking on.

“ This is your idea of discreetly finding me?” I ask, straining to leave space between us.

He positions his back to the door, careful to keep his cashmere from the grime.

Earlier, he warned us he’d be muting the group chat when he’s with Mia.

While necessary to ensure she doesn’t catch any messages on his screen, it has made communication with him, well, medieval.

I had to tell Grace to instruct him to find me downstairs. Discreetly.

Tom glowers. The dull light casts shadows on the sharp lines of his face. “It wasn’t easy to get away. Aside from the polo match, she’s been on me all day.”

I raise my eyebrows indicatively.

His expression flattens. “Not like that.”

“So you’re not hooking up?” I don’t know why I ask.

I didn’t tell Tom to meet me to discuss his romantic life.

It’s none of my business. We all knew the implication behind Mia’s invitation.

She’s into him. She has been since she saw him on my arm at the wedding.

And despite how annoying my cousin is, she’s obviously beautiful, with exactly the hint of darkness I know Tom is attracted to.

He leans back on the door, his eyes sparking in the shade. “No, Olivia. We’re not… Not yet.”

“Waiting for the right romantic moment to make your move?” I can’t help prying. “Medieval fortresses and evil grandmothers not exactly setting the mood?”

“Quite the contrary. You’ve just described my ideal date.”

I laugh. It’s easy to spar with Tom. We’re both too good at it.

He watches me, evidently pleased enough to drop the games. “No. I just haven’t decided if I want to.”

The comment snags my interest. Tom is rarely real. As an actor and lover of mischief, there’s nothing Tom finds more boring than the truth. Yet here he is, confessing his uncertainty. Why?

“But you’re saying she wants to,” I reply.

The look he gives me is smug. Obviously, Olivia , his smirk whispers.

I roll my eyes. “Not everyone wants to hook up with you, Tom.”

“Yes. I’m aware.” Suddenly, his voice is curt. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

The subject change is sharp. The risk of being sparring partners? It’s easy to draw blood. “The Knives Club,” I say. “Ever heard of it?”

“No. Cool band name, though.”

Back to business. Good. “Mia mentioned it,” I go on.

“Some ultrasecret group. Maybe like an elite social club? The cuff links she stole from my dad and now wears on her charm bracelet are connected to it. Ernest Hensson had them, too. We need to find out why she really stole those cuff links and how the Knives relate to Leonie’s scheme. ”

“Yet more mysteries. Do you even do research before these jobs?” He’s pretending to be irked, but I know the hunt thrills him like it does me.

“Masterminding a heist is about more than just research,” I fire back. “It’s about putting together a team. Which I have. You’re in the perfect place to gather information from Mia.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “While I do love to be of service, I can’t just bring up a secret club Mia has never mentioned to me without raising her suspicion.”

“Well, find a way not to raise her suspicion, then,” I reply, annoyed. Of course I know it’s delicate, but everything Tom has done for this heist has been delicate.

Tom crosses his arms. “Bossy,” he says, amusement mixed with accusation.

I release my breath, leaning my elbow on the nearest shelf. “Sorry. I—I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen at my apology. I don’t like to admit to mistakes, but I can, and with my crew, I should. I may be their leader, but we’re a team. I won’t start treating them like employees. Like my father would.

“You caught me in a bad mood,” I go on. “I just saw Abigail talking to Dash. It left me on edge.”

“You’re forgiven,” he says instantly. “You’re thinking we can’t trust her?”

I meet his eyes in the dark. “What do you think?”

“Of course we can’t.” His reply is decisive.

Immediate relief rushes through me. It’s validating to know Tom shares my reservations.

I don’t want to become my grandmother, suspicious and reclusive, but I also don’t want to make foolish mistakes in a misguided effort to differentiate myself from her.

The fact that Tom sees what I see stabilizes me.

“Agreed. For both her and Dash to arrive within a day of each other…” I trail off, knowing Tom will connect the same pieces that have been lodged in my mind.

He rubs his chin, deep in thought.

“We could sic Kevin on her,” he offers.

“I think Abigail is too important a job for Kevin.”

Tom laughs. “Hey, he’s come a long way.”

I find myself grinning. “All Abigail has to do is offer to watch Shrek with him, and he’ll turn on us.”

“Damn. Foiled by Shrek . I mean, there’s nothing we could have done. Shrek is too powerful.”

Now we’re both laughing, our wheezes hushed. I try to collect myself, but Tom is struggling to subdue his grin. It makes me laugh harder, the sound coming out ridiculously strangled. Which is of course, unfortunately, hilarious to us both.

My chest seizes with laughter. I tip forward, curling in on myself trying to muffle the absurd sound I’m making. Shaking silently in front of me, Tom reaches for my elbow, steadying us both.

“Deep… breaths,” he tries to advise through his own unsuccessful efforts.

I grip his wrist as if that will somehow help. I need to get control of myself, to get back to business. Laughing hysterically in a dark closet with Tom Pham over really nothing is hardly—

The door flies open.

My grandmother stands in the light, her eyes taking in everything.