Page 37

D INNER WAS brIEF. O R brIEF BY E UROPEAN STANDARDS. M ERELY four courses in one hour. I didn’t recount everything to Jackson during dinner, not with eavesdroppers nearby, but only mentioned I was going on a family trip tomorrow and would explain more later.

Thirty minutes after we’re released, I’m on my way through Volenvell to the meeting place where we plan to debrief on the day.

Obviously, we can’t all walk over together.

I left Jackson to “freshen up in my room,” while he “called his parents in the library.” Everyone knows to stagger their arrivals accordingly.

The destination leads me down long hallways I’ve never navigated. Within Volenvell’s walls, I find myself convinced I could explore forever and never learn every secret. Fitting for its residents , I think darkly.

On the eastern end, I exit the castle through heavy wooden doors. Crossing the cobblestone lane in the freezing night, I’m careful not to slip on the ice on the way to the meeting point—the service kitchen.

I knock hurriedly. Moments later, Kevin opens the door.

The kitchen’s impressiveness startles me when I step inside. Modern culinary updates have rendered the room the perfect combination of new and old. On one wall, the stone mouth of a huge hearth opens. Formidable stoves and shining stainless steel freezers humming with electricity line others.

The rest of the crew waits inside. Grace sits on the large center island, where the countertop glares with the reflected overhead lights. Kevin returns to the small table under the window where Jackson is seated. Tom leans on the wall nearby.

Only Deonte is otherwise occupied. He checks on his cakes in front of an open fridge while cold steam surrounds him.

With him is Abigail. She isn’t wearing death-metal insignias or one of her ebony ensembles now. Her auburn hair falls unevenly over the hood of her disarmingly casual gray sweatshirt.

When Deonte leans in, Abigail does, too, touching his back on the flimsy premise of getting a closer look at the cakes.

I focus on the contact, distracted instantly. It’s obviously flirtatious. I know exactly what Abigail’s doing.

What’s more, Deonte does, too. When he straightens up from the fridge, his eyes linger on Abigail. She holds his intrigued gaze.

Shit. Under usual circumstances, I would be delighted to find my sister dating my friend. The problem is, Abigail’s not just my sister. Far from it.

If she’s scheming against me, flirting with Deonte could be strategy. Deonte will be the one to move the gold when we have it—does she think she can get him to double-cross me?

My heist would be threatened, and Deonte could be left brokenhearted.

I need to keep a close eye on this. If things progress, I’ll need to proceed extremely cautiously.

Right now, I settle for interrupting them.

“Good,” I say loudly to the assembled crew. “You’re all here. Today has been… eventful.” I walk over to the counters. I don’t lean or sit, though. Instead, I stand directly under the lights, drawing all eyes to me.

“Tell me about it,” Kevin starts in dramatically. “Did you guys have the afternoon hot chocolate? We must debrief. I didn’t know hot chocolate could be that thick—”

I cut in before he can turn this meeting into a hangout. “We have a lot to go over regarding the heist, Kev. But noted,” I can’t help adding. “We should all try the hot chocolate before we leave.”

Everyone nods very studiously at my recommendation. Deonte, having shut the fridge, moves to the pantry, where he leans a shoulder on the cabinets. Abigail joins him. Their arms brush.

“Tom,” I force out, pulling my gaze from Abigail and Deonte’s burgeoning romance. “Have you made progress with Mia?”

He shakes his head. “No. Let’s keep this brief, though. I have plans with her at midnight. I told her Grace and I were FaceTiming our parents, which Grace will corroborate to Sofia.”

I’m nodding when Jackson interjects. “So, you’re going on a trip tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I say. “Norway for one night. Owens family only.”

On my final words, I meet Abigail’s eyes. She hears the unspoken question I’ve had since I received the invitation.

She huffs a defensive laugh. “Yeah, they don’t mean Owens-Pierce family ,” she confirms. “No invitation for me. Not surprised,” she preempts, “with how my last conversation with Leonie went.”

I wrestle down the urge to care whether the exclusion wounds her.

“You made your intentions perfectly clear,” I agree crisply.

“Those going,” I continue, “will be keeping the family from getting the ring. Which means Abigail, Kevin, Deonte, Jackson, Grace—you’ll have to be our eyes and ears here in Volenvell. Grace, how’s the vault prep going?”

Grace leans back on her arms, her legs crisscrossed in front of her on her countertop perch. She looks perfectly comfortable up there, as if she lounges on castle countertops regularly. “If you get the ring and you don’t need me to drill, I’m still getting my cut, right?”

“You’re part of this crew. And I don’t assume anything will go smoothly. We need every contingency,” I assure her.

“Then I’m ready when you need me,” she says with a hint of pressure.

“With the make and model information Jackson got me, I’m set.

It’s a vault often used by banks, which means it’s quite strong, but my diamond drill bits will do the trick.

I’ll measure where to drill, and then it’s just about manipulating the locks from the inside. Easy.”

Kevin is the one to voice everyone’s question. “Where did you learn all this?” His voice is awed, as it should be, honestly.

Grace isn’t showy the way Tom is. She doesn’t seek to command every room she enters.

However, the Phams share a love of attention.

Grace seems unable to resist flaunting just a little bit.

She slouches, smirking faintly—an expression I’ve seen on Tom countless times when he knows he’s being admired.

“I studied,” she says, flip. “There are whole conventions for professional safecrackers. Apparently, it’s more common than you’d think for people to forget their combinations or die without telling anyone or for bank vaults to malfunction.

Professionals are called in all the time to break in legally.

It’s just about knowing exactly where to drill.

” Her voice loses some of her natural cool-girl aloofness as she speaks, genuine curiosity and interest lighting in her eyes.

“With a little measuring, some math, an understanding of how the mechanisms work inside—it’s easy, honestly. ”

She may be perched on a countertop, her makeup perfect, her clothes posh, but by far the most intimidating thing about Grace is her intelligence. It clearly comes from the fierce combination of ambition and a thirst for knowledge. I’m incredibly grateful she’s on our side.

“Good work, Grace,” I say. Her confidence eases my mind. As long as we can get Grace to the vault, she will get us inside.

“You forgot Tom,” Jackson says.

I blink, thrown by the redirection.

“You said Abigail, Kevin, Deonte, Grace, and I would remain here to watch the castle,” Jackson prompts.

Tom examines his nails. “She didn’t forget me,” he replies laconically. “I’m going with the Owens family. Personally invited by Leonie herself.”

Jackson’s gaze flashes to me instantly.

“Believe me,” I say quickly, ready and willing to commiserate. “It wasn’t my choice. Leonie is messing with me.”

“By what? Encouraging you to dump me for him?” Jackson asks. His face is flushed, emotion stripping his voice.

His outburst shocks me. Jackson has kept his cool with Tom no matter how he’s goaded him this whole trip. He’s not a jealous boyfriend. He’d never confront me about something so uncomfortable in front of an audience.

Except he has.

“Jackson, could we discuss this later?” I keep my voice light, hoping he sees the pleading in my eyes.

If he does, he doesn’t care. “You’re the one who chose to tell me in front of the crew instead of in private,” he says, steely.

My eyebrows rise. He has every right to everything he’s said. I only thought I could get away with this conversation because I take Jackson’s goodness, his kindness, for granted. I need to do better. “Because it’s only part of the job,” I say. “Nothing more.”

“Jackson,” Tom interjects.

His interruption quiets the room. I don’t know what I notice first, the uncommon calm of his voice or the fact he’s used Jackson’s name. Not Jefferson or Jordan or some other mocking misnomer. Not Pawn .

I go still—Tom with the spotlight often means he’s up to something. I wait for the punch line, heavy on the punch .

“The trip is nothing to worry about,” Tom continues. His measured sincerity surprises me. “Leonie thinks she knows what’s best for Olivia, but she hasn’t spent any time actually getting to know her granddaughter. Her opinion is worthless.”

He looks up, finding Jackson’s defiant eyes. Jackson holds his gaze.

I say nothing, not wanting to accidentally ignite more confrontation. No one else chimes in, either. Not even Kevin, who undoubtedly knows the wrong words could ruin the night like hot chocolate dousing a Givenchy jacket.

The silence stretches. At last, Jackson looks away.

“Fine,” he says. “It’s not like I have a choice, now, do I?”

Fine. His concession is far from a comfort. It hurts to hear. While my grandmother can’t control my heart, I’m forced to admit wounding it is well within her reach.

I want to reassure Jackson. Go to him, say Tom’s exactly right. Leonie’s opinion is worthless. Jackson has no reason to worry.

I can’t, though—not right now. I can’t stop a heist meeting for my boyfriend. I have to lead. I have to demonstrate my unflinching focus, especially if Abigail is planning something. I’ll be Girlfriend Olivia when we leave the room, I promise myself.

“Don’t feel bad, Jackson. Sofia couldn’t get me an invite, either,” Grace grumbles.