Here we go. Gigi tried to clear her mind. Did she have a knife strapped to her thigh with leopard-print duct tape beneath her ball gown, where no one could see it? Yes. Yes, she did. Did anyone in this room realize that? No. No, they did not. Was she carrying a grudge the size of Pangaea about what she’d had to sacrifice to keep said knife and said duct tape? Also yes.
But right now, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that Avery was addressing the room. “The seven of you are here because three years ago, I went from living in my car to having the world. I became an extremely unlikely heiress.”
At the front of the room, the remaining Hawthorne brothers took up position around Jameson and Avery in a way that made it hard for Gigi to think of the five of them as anything other than a unit: Nash-and-Xander- and-Grayson-and-Jameson-and-Avery against the world.
All four Hawthornes removed their masks.
“Anything I could imagine,” Avery continued, “was suddenly within my grasp, and I was thrown into the middle of a game I can’t even describe.”
Beside Avery, Jameson was looking at her like she was the sun and the moon and the stars and eternity, all rolled into one.
In Gigi’s entire life, no one had ever looked at her like that.
“I was given the chance of a lifetime,” Avery said, her voice echoing through the Great Room. “And now, I’m giving it to you. Not the fortune— not all of it anyway. But the experience? The ultimate puzzle, the most
incredible game, the kind of challenge that will show you who you are and what you’re capable of, all with life-changing riches in the balance? That, I can give you.” She paused. “This year’s prize is twenty-six million dollars.”
Twenty-six million. And unlike Gigi’s trust fund, that money would be unrestricted.
“Although only one of you will emerge as the winner of this year’s game,” Avery glanced at Jameson, “none of you will leave this island empty-handed.”
“The masks you’re wearing tonight,” Jameson added, “are yours to keep.”
Gigi touched her own mask. Its edges were adorned with tiny, perfect pearls. Diamond chips framed her eyes, and a trio of peacock feathers on the side was secured by an aquamarine the size of her smallest knuckle. Gigi mused about how much money she could get for it—and how many reverse heists she could fund with the proceeds.
“And then, there’s these.” Jameson produced a long, velvet box seemingly out of nowhere. Avery opened it, and Gigi leaned in for a better look. Around the room, the other players did the same.
Inside the box were seven pins—small gold keys.
Avery took one out. “However this turns out, remember: The people here with you tonight are the only ones who will ever know what it was like to play this year’s game. From now until the end of your lives, that’s something you’ll share.”
“Growing up,” Jameson said, looking at each of his brothers, “receiving a pin like these was a rite of passage in Hawthorne House. Consider them a symbol: Win or lose, you’re all part of something now.”
Avery smiled. “You are not alone.”
Not alone. Gigi’s heart managed to twist and leap in her chest at the same time. She looked instinctively to Savannah, but her twin’s gaze was locked on Avery and only Avery, as the heiress and the Hawthorne brothers began distributing the pins.
“For the record,” Jameson announced, as he affixed Savannah’s pin in place, “you should all know that our beloved, if somewhat emotionally constipated, brother Grayson had no part in designing this year’s game. He
might be the one ensuring things run smoothly, but he’s every bit as in the dark as the seven of you.”
Nash appeared in front of Gigi. With gentle hands, he pinned the gold key to her ball gown. “Here you go, kid.” He winked. “Nice necklace. Color suits you.”
“Enough already,” Knox cut in. “Enough with the masks and the formal wear and the speeches.” He spoke precisely but with almost no pauses between his words, like he considered the ebb and flow of speech a waste of time.
That bag-stealing scum-basket.
“What’s the game?” Knox demanded.
You just wait, Eyebrows of Doom, Gigi thought. Just. Wait.
“Every story has its beginning, Knox.” Avery’s voice took on an almost musical lilt as she spoke the familiar words. “Your story—all of yours— starts when the sands of time run out.”
With no small amount of dramatic flair, Xander knelt and bopped the wood floor with the heel of his hand. A panel popped up. A hidden compartment. Xander withdrew an object from it.
“An hourglass.” Gigi hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
The hourglass was about a foot and a half tall and filled with sparkling black sand. Xander strolled forward and set it on one of two identical marble coffee tables.
Gigi watched, mesmerized, as black sand began to fall.
“Until then…” Avery held out an arm out for Jameson, who took it. “Follow us.”
