The Final Gambit (The Inheritance Games #3)(18)

Go to Jackson. Toby’s instructions to my mother echoed in my mind.

You know what I left there. You know what it’s worth.

“You don’t have Toby.” Jameson cut to the chase. “Do you?”

“Are you admitting,” Skye said cannily, “that my brother is alive?”

Anything we told her, she might well sell to the press.

“Answer the question,” Grayson ordered.

“I don’t really have any of you anymore, now do I? Not Toby. Not you boys.” Skye looked almost mournful, but the glint in her eyes was a little too sharp. “Really, what exactly are you accusing me of, Grayson?” Skye took a drink. “You act like I’m such a monster.” Her voice was still high and clear, but intense. For the first time, I could see a resemblance between her and her sons—but especially Jameson. “All of you do, but the only thing that I have ever wanted was to be loved.”

I had the sudden sense that this was Skye’s truth, as she saw it.

“But the more I needed love, the more I craved it, the more indifferent the world became. My parents. Your fathers. Even you boys.” Skye had told Jameson and me once that she left men after she got pregnant as a test: If they really wanted her, they would follow.

But no one ever had.

“We loved you,” Nash said in a way that made me think of the little boy he must have been. “You were our mother. How could we not?”

“That’s what I told myself, each time I got pregnant.” Skye’s eyes glistened. “But none of you stayed mine for long. No matter what I did, you were your grandfather’s first and mine second.” Skye helped herself to another sip, her voice becoming more cavalier. “Daddy never really considered me a player in the grand game, so I did what I could. I gave him heirs.” She turned her gaze on me. “And look how that turned out.” She gave a little shrug. “So I’m done.”

“You really expect us to believe that you’re just throwing in the towel?”

Jameson asked.

“Darling, I don’t particularly care what you believe. But I’d rather rule my own kingdom than settle for scraps of hers.”

“So you’re just stepping back from it all?” I stared at Skye Hawthorne, trying to divine some truth. “Hawthorne House? The money? Your father’s legacy?”

“Do you know what the real difference is between millions and billions, Ava?” Skye asked. “Because at a certain point, it’s not about the money.”

“It’s about the power,” Grayson said beside me.

Skye raised her glass to him. “You really would have made a wonderful heir.”

“So that’s it?” Nash asked, looking around the massive foyer. “This is your kingdom now?”

“Why not?” Skye replied airily. “Daddy never saw me as a power player anyway.” She gave another elegant little shrug. “Who am I to disappoint?”





CHAPTER 16

The walk down the lengthy driveway was tense.

“Well, I for one found that refreshing,” Jameson declared. “Our mother isn’t the villain this time.” He could act like he was bulletproof, like Skye’s callousness couldn’t touch him, but I knew better. “My favorite part, personally,” he continued grandly, “was being blamed for never loving her enough, though I must say the reminder that we were conceived in a vain attempt to get a lock on those sweet, sweet Hawthorne billions never goes astray.”

“Shut up.” Grayson removed his suit jacket and hung a sharp right.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

Grayson turned back. “I’d prefer to walk.”

“Eighteen miles?” Nash drawled.

“I will assure you—all of you—once again…” Grayson rolled up his shirtsleeves, the motion practiced, emphatic. “I can take care of myself.”

“Say that again,” Jameson encouraged, “but try to sound even more like an automaton this time.”

I gave Jameson a look. Grayson was hurting. They both were.

“You’re right, Heiress,” Jameson said, holding up his hands in defeat.

“I’m being horribly unfair to automatons.”

“You’re spoiling for a fight,” Grayson commented, his voice dangerously neutral.

Jameson took a step toward his brother. “An eighteen-mile walk would do.”

For several seconds, the two of them engaged in a silent staring contest.

Finally, Grayson inclined his head. “Don’t expect me to talk to you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jameson replied.

“You’re both being ridiculous,” I said. “The two of you can’t walk back to Hawthorne House.” I really should have known better by now than to tell

a Hawthorne he couldn’t do something.

I turned to Nash. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked him.

In response, Nash opened the back door of the SUV for me. “I call shotgun.”

Alone in the middle row, I spent the drive back to Hawthorne House in silence. Skye had definitely gotten to her sons. Grayson would turn that inward. Jameson would act out. I could only hope they both made it home unscathed. Aching for them, I wondered who had made Skye so desperate to be the center of someone’s world that she couldn’t even love her own children, for fear they wouldn’t love her back enough.