Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 11 - Brothers Brawling

"So," Nash says, "what's the deal with you, Trouble?"

I frown. "No deal. And that's the second time you're calling me that. Drop it. The name's Camille."

"Noted," he says, but his amused tone suggests that this note will be forgotten in no time.

"You don't stay here for long," I say. It's not a question, more of a statement— and he picks up on it. We walk along a corridor.

"I don't enjoy the bragging of rich people too often. It gets boring after a while," he answers, and I snort.

"Right. And you're not one of them?" He grew up as the grandson of a billionaire. This might as well be his ego talking.

"Please." He looks at me, something unidentifiable in the way he speaks. "All the money belongs to you now."

Uncomfortable, I look away. "I don't feel like a rich person. I don't feel rich at all." I don't want to act like a rich person. I don't want to become the person I'd loathe.

"It'll get to your head soon. It always does." Nash Hawthorne seems to speak from experience. I wonder who he means, but it seems to hurt all the same.

"I have you to make sure it doesn't." I nudge him, not sure where my confidence comes from, but I like him. He's less shitty than the rest of this family.

He grins at me in response. "I think we're gonna make good friends."

We've reached the end of a hall and I prepare myself to see evidence of a brawl. Instead, I see Grayson and Jameson standing on opposite sides of a library that takes my breath away.

The room is circular. Shelves stretched up fifteen or twenty feet overhead, and every single one is lined completely with hardcover books. The shelves are made of a deep, rich wood. Spread across the room, four wrought-iron staircases spiral toward the upper shelves, like the points on a compass. In the library's center, there's a massive tree stump, easily ten feet across. Even from a distance, I can see the rings marking the tree's age.

It takes me a moment to realize that it's meant to be used as a desk.

I could stay here forever, I think. I could stay in this room forever and never leave.

"So," Nash says beside me, casually eyeing his brothers. "Whose ass do I need to kick first?"

Grayson looks up from the book he's holding. "Must we always resort to fisticuffs?"

"Looks like I have a volunteer for the first ass-kicking," Nash says, then shoots a measuring look at Jameson, who's leaning against one of the wrought-iron staircases. "Do I have a second?"

Jameson smirks. "Couldn't stay away, could you, big brother?"

"And leave Camille and Avery here with you knuckleheads?" Until Nash mentions my name, neither of the other two seem to have registered my presence behind him, but I feel my invisibility slip away, just like that.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Miss Diante," Grayson says, his voice sharp. "She's clearly capable of taking care of herself."

Translation: I'm a soulless, gold-digging con artist, and he sees right through me.

"Don't pay any attention to Gray," Jameson tells me lazily. "None of us do."

"Jamie," Nash says. "Zip it."

Jameson ignores him. "Grayson is in training for the Insufferable Olympics, and we really think he can go all the way if he can just jam that stick a little farther up his—"