The Inheritance Games: TikTok Made Me Buy It

After Grayson left, I spent another fifteen minutes in the gallery—alone—staring at Cézanne’s Four Brothers before Alisa sent someone to find me.

“I agree,” Xander told me, even though I hadn’t said anything for him to agree with. “This party sucks. The socialite-to-scone ratio is pretty much unforgivable.”

I wasn’t in the mood for scone jokes. Jameson says he broke up with Emily. Grayson claims that he killed her. Thea is using me to punish them both. “I’m out of here,” I told Xander.

“You can’t leave yet!”

I gave him a look. “Why not?”

“Because…” Xander waggled his lone eyebrow. “They just opened up the dance floor. You want to give the press something to talk about, don’t you?”

One dance. That was all I was giving Alisa—and the photographers—before I got the hell out of here.

“Pretend I’m the most fascinating person you’ve ever met,” Xander advised as he escorted me onto the dance floor for a waltz. He held a hand out for mine, then curved his other arm around my back. “Here, I’ll help: Every year on my birthday, from the time I was seven until I was twelve, my grandfather gave me money to invest, and I spent it all on cryptocurrency because I am a genius and not at all because I thought cryptocurrency sounded kind of cool.” He spun me once. “I sold my holdings before my grandfather died for almost a hundred million dollars.”

I stared at him. “You what?”

“See?” he told me. “Fascinating.” Xander kept right on dancing, but he looked down. “Not even my brothers know.”

“What did your brothers invest in?” I asked. All this time, I’d been assuming that they’d been cut off with nothing. Nash had told me about Tobias Hawthorne’s birthday tradition, but I hadn’t thought twice about their “investments.”

“No idea,” Xander said jauntily. “We weren’t allowed to discuss it.”

We danced on, the photographers snapping their shots. Xander brought his face very close to mine.

“The press is going to think we’re dating,” I told him, my mind still spinning at his revelation.

“As it so happens,” Xander replied archly, “I excel at fake dating.”

“Who exactly did you fake date?” I asked.

Xander looked past me to Thea. “I am a human Rube Goldberg machine,” he said. “I do simple things in complicated ways.” He paused. “It was Emily’s idea for Thea and me to date. Em was, shall we say, persistent. She didn’t know that Thea was already with someone.”

“And you agreed to put on a show?” I asked incredulously.

“I repeat: I am a human Rube Goldberg machine.” His voice softened. “And I didn’t do it for Thea.”

Then for who? It took me a moment to put it together. Xander had mentioned fake dating twice before: once with respect to Thea, and once when I’d asked him about Rebecca.

“Thea and Rebecca?” I said.

“Deeply in love,” Xander confirmed. Thea called her painfully beautiful. “The best friend and the younger sister. What was I supposed to do? They didn’t think Emily would understand. She was possessive of the people she loved, and I knew how hard it was for Rebecca to go against her. Just once, Bex wanted something for herself.”

I wondered if Xander had feelings for her—if fake dating Thea had been his twisted, Rube Goldberg way of saying that. “Were Thea and Rebecca right?” I asked. “About Emily not understanding?”

“And then some.” Xander paused. “Em found out about them that night. She saw it as a betrayal.”

That night—the night she died.

The music came to an end, and Xander dropped my hand, keeping his other arm around my waist. “Smile for the press,” he murmured. “Give them a story. Look deep into my eyes. Feel the weight of my charm. Think of your favorite baked goods.”

The edges of my lips turned up, and Xander Hawthorne escorted me off the dance floor to Alisa. “You can go now,” she told me, pleased. “If you’d like.”

Hell yes. “You coming?” I asked Xander.

The invitation seemed to surprise him. “I can’t.” He paused. “I solved the Black Wood.” That got my full attention. “I could win this.” Xander looked down at his fancy shoes. “But Jameson and Grayson need it more. Head back to Hawthorne House. There’ll be a helicopter waiting for you when you get there. Have the pilot fly you over the Black Wood.”

A helicopter?

“Where you go,” Xander told me, “they’ll follow.”

They, as in his brothers. “I thought you wanted to win,” I said to Xander.

He swallowed. Hard. “I do.”