Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 8 - In which I get threatened but it's hot

"There's no way," Aisha says, "I mean, of course I believe you. But there's no way." I hear voices behind her.

"Do you have to go?" I ask. "And I know. I know." As much as I want to accept everything, I cannot possibly comprehend. At least not without my best friend by my side. My best friend, who's thousands of miles away now. Because I'm in Texas.

"No, I'm good. Noor is going out with friends today and she keeps coming into my room to ask for new things. All my scarves are on the floor right now- Noor, put that down, brown doesn't go with that."

I laugh. Some sense of normality returns to me. Aisha, Noor. They're family. I love them all.

"I just worry about Avery," she says, her voice as melodic as always. "How is she dealing with all of this?"

Oh, shit. "I haven't talked to her yet." I brace myself.

"Camille!" There it is. Aisha is right, of course. I should feel guilty for not checking up on Avery yet, and I do. But it's been a long day.

"I know. I'll go there in a minute. I just..." I look down at the letter in my lap. Tobias Hawthorne has left me an explanation, but in the hours since the will was read, I haven't been able to bring myself to open the envelope. I'm alone, sitting in the dark on the balcony of the penthouse suite of a hotel that I own- and I am frozen.

I have a secret..... I picture my mom in my mind. How many times have I heard her say those exact words?

"You okay?" Alisha asks on the other end of the line.

I look down at the envelope, at my name in calligraphy on the front. I swallow. "Tobias Hawthorne left me a letter."

She waits. Of course she fucking waits. Waits for me to explain.

"I can't."

"You're an idiot, Camille. Don't be ridiculous. Open the letter." She sounds so done with me I have to chuckle.

But before I can open the letter, Oren knocks on the window and points towards the door. I frown. "Aisha, I think I have to go. I'll open it and we'll call later."

"Ugh, fine." She sighs and wishes me well.

Back in the suite, I find Oren positioned at the door.

"Who is it?" I ask him.

"Grayson Hawthorne," Oren replies. I stare at the door, and Oren elaborates. "If my men considered him a threat, he never would have made it to our floor. I trust Grayson. But if you don't want to see him..."

"Have you asked if I trust him?" I simply return.

Oren looks at me, and then he shakes his head. "No." There's the hint of a smile on his face.

But there is something about the way Grayson looks at me, from the first time we met, to the encounter in the garden. "I suppose we'll see." I step towards the door, but Oren rushes to open it. He does, and then steps back.

Grayson leans against the frame. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"No," I say. "Since you were so eager to have me away from Hawthorne House, I can't imagine why you'd come here now."

"I've spent the past hour telling myself much the same thing and yet, here I am." His face looks so humane, his hair unkempt, nothing at all like the guy in the suit. Turns out I'm not the only one who hasn't been able to sleep. He lost everything today. Because of me.

"Grayson—", I start.

"I don't know how you did this." He cuts me off, his voice dangerous and soft. "I don't know what hold you had over my grandfather, or what kind of con you're running here—" I stare at him and he stops. "What?"

"I was talking, Hawthorne. You don't interrupt a woman when she's talking. And I'm not running anything here. I had no idea who the fuck you and your family were until yesterday, which I'm sure you already know." I step closer to him. "You're looking for someone to blame. That's okay, I understand that. But that person is not me."

He stares at me for a moment, then he lets out a laugh. "I was wrong about you, Miss Diante," he says then. "You're a lot more cunning then I allowed myself to think. I haven't a clue how you pulled this off, but I will find out. I see you now. I know what you are and what you're capable of, and there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect my family. Whatever game you're playing here, I will find the truth, and God help you when I do."

"Good," I say. "That makes two of us."

Oren steps into my peripheral vision, but I don't wait for him to act. I slam the door shut. Heart pounding, I wait for him to knock again, to shout through the door. Nothing.

"Not a threat," I say to Oren. "That's funny." With one last glance at him, I retreat to my bedroom.

Open the letter. This time, I do it, removing a card from the envelope.

The body of the message is only two words long. I stare at the page, reading the salutation, the message, and the signature, over and over again.

My Camille.
   I'm sorry.
   — T. T. H.